Ash: Book One in the Rising Ash Saga Page 3

  Marcus peels away the aluminum before each enthusiastic bite. I watch him, wondering when he last had a hot meal. We eat in silence. I can see their faces becoming more relaxed with the knowledge of our safety even if it is temporary.

  Three

  Marcus picks the lower level of the stainless steel rolling table as the place he wants to sleep. I place the leftover garbage in the corner before I head back to the main part of the restaurant to finish securing the perimeter while Rachel tucks Marcus in. In the looming silence of the oncoming night, I hear her sing to him. She has found a pile of clean aprons and table cloths to build a small nest for him. The fire, now nothing more than glowing embers, would be enough to keep us warm until morning.

  Rachel joins me after a few moments, pushing quietly through the swinging door from the kitchen.

  “Need some help?” she asks.

  “I'm nearly finished, I think.”

  All of the furniture is pushed against the windows, creating a semblance of a wall around us. The only thing that might be a threat to us would be a large herd, but I can detect them from a long distance. We can take measures for safety should that happen.

  “Looks good,” she says glancing around the room.

  All of the tables had been moved out of the center, pushed over on edge along the perimeter. The restaurant looks strangely bare. I sit down on the small staircase leading from the bar area down to the empty center. Rachel sits down next to me.

  “How's Marcus doing?” I ask.

  “He's sleeping now. I've never seen him go out so fast. We've had a hard road lately. I'm glad he is safe for tonight.”

  “That's good.”

  “How long have you been out there?” she asks.

  “I don't know. A long time I think.” I glance over. She is watching me with intensity behind her expression, lips pursed, eyebrows drawn together. “I um... I can't remember a lot of things.” I tap on the side of my head with my fingertip. “It comes and goes. It's been this way for as long as I know.”

  “What happened?” she asks. “I mean before. What was your life? How did you end up alone?”

  “That's one of the things gone. I have a few flashes, but that's about it.”

  “You must have some idea.”

  “Not really. I mean, I remember there was a woman wearing white. I can't remember her face, just kind of a presence. That's about all. I remember being younger, much younger, and she read to me. That's all I know.”

  “Was she your mother?”

  “I don't think she was.”

  “You have been out in this all alone since you were eight years old?”

  “I suppose I have.”

  Rachel shifts, adjusting to face me. “Let me ask you a question. Earlier you said you would go out and collect firewood.”

  “Right.” I feel a nudge of suspicion.

  “I asked if I could help and you said no. I know it is dangerous out there, but even so. Why didn't you let me come with you?”

  I turn away from her, staring forward. “I understand what you are thinking. To you, I look like a young girl. I get it. But I've been out there. You have seen that I can handle myself.” I trusted her to an extent, but I do not want to tell her everything. Not yet.

  “It felt strange, I'll admit. Watching you leave. Not knowing if you would come back.”

  “Let's say you came with me,” I say. “Let's say you and Marcus come along. Let's say we get caught somewhere and we are cut off from getting back to shelter. Who would it be?”

  “What do you mean? Who would what be?”

  “I'm just a girl,” I say. “A child by all appearances. I know that. I'm a fighter and so far, a survivor, but I'm just a girl. You feel on some level as if I need protecting. I know what I look like, skinny and small. I know how I come across to others. A little girl in need of protection, right? Would you say that was your first impression?”

  “Alright. Yes, a little bit. Yes.”

  “But, despite all of that, if it comes down to it, and one of us is in danger. Who would you choose?”

  “I'm still not sure I understand.”

  “You would do what you could, but you would not risk yourself to save me. No matter the circumstances, you will always choose him first.”

  The dawning appears on her face, eyebrows raising slightly.

  “But it's okay,” I say. “I've been out there long enough to know how to survive on my own. I do better when I'm alone actually. The two of you are still learning. Am I right about that?”

  She nods.

  “Don't get me wrong,” I continue. “Obviously, you are doing quite well. Remarkably well. But it's different without a car.”

  “We have been in a car for most of the time,” she says.

  I stand and cross the room, gazing through the windows shading my eyes against the dark.

  “Tomorrow I'll go and find us a car,” I say turning back to her. “You are okay with the arrangement for now?”

  “Are you kidding me?” she says crossing her arms over her knees. “Ash, you're the best chance we've got.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We got hit hard before you found us. I mean, we lost our car, but the worst part was losing our group. We barely made it to that mansion. We just made it up the stairs trying to find a place to rest when that loner showed up. If you hadn't shown up we would have been caught in that herd. Now here we are, and within the day, we have found a secure building full of food. If it weren't for you, we'd probably be dead. No joke.”

  I nod, a bit taken aback by her sudden declaration. “Okay, fair enough. I'm glad for that too.”

  She responds with a small smile.

  “I'm going to get some sleep,” I say. “It's been a bit of a big day, and tomorrow won't be much different if I'm heading into town.”

  “Okay then,” she replies. “I'm going to stay up for a bit.”

  I slip into the kitchen where Marcus is snoring softly from his nest under the table. I think I could roll the entire stainless steel contraption across the room and he would not have woken. I wander over to the fire, still putting out a good amount of heat. Then I find my way over to the pile of aprons and table cloths.

  Part of me wants Rachel to come back in so I could sleep in the outer room. I shuffle around for a few moments, before I slip back to the door, peeking back out to her. She sits on the stairs, leaning her face on her hands. The weariness of her lot is etched on her face, more than I had seen in anyone in a long while. I know that feeling, that desire to give up. More often than not it becomes overridden by the desire to survive. As of late that struggle becomes more difficult.

  The next morning, I climb out of the pallet I had built on the floor by the kitchen door. I wake before the others, sliding the strap of my bow onto my back and slipping quickly out of the kitchen into the main room. Once again I find myself hoping they would stay put. They have nothing more to do with the day that to stay inside and remain alive. I set out a carton of powdered eggs, knowing Rachel would find the gallon jugs of water in the pantry. It might taste a little stale but who is being picky at this stage of the game.

  I am careful not to make a sound as I pull open the door to the outside, double-checking the placement of the iron bench. I step over it, pulling the door closed behind me before I turn to scan the horizon. It had been half a day since the horde had come through. It would be beneficial to travel down the road this time, instead of following the flattened ground like we had done, especially since I am on the lookout for a car, a blue one if I keep my word to Marcus.

  But a vehicle is not all I am looking for.

  I jog across the pavement to the nearest road. My legs and lungs burn with the exertion and it feels good. There are only a few miles before I would make it downtown, and I would need to keep an eye out for the creatures. The fresh air helps to clear my head as I make my way down the road, ever alert.

  They could be anywhere.

  Up ahead I see movement
in the road.

  At first, I think it is another deer or badger or something. Not until I get close enough, do I realize that it is a zombie, crouched over a raccoon at the side of the road. Shame I did not get there first. I have never eaten raccoon before. I have my crossbow but this close I can save the arrow.

  I pull out my knife, as I slowly reach down and pick up a handful of pebbles. Hitching back my arm, I take aim and toss one of the small rocks over its head so it lands on the other side of the monster. The sound catches its attention, and it cranes its head up towards the noise.

  I toss another handful which skitters across the pavement. This time, it stands and shuffles towards the sound. I take advantage of the distraction and stalk up behind it, taking slow, sideways steps, before I spike the knife into the side of its head.

  I feel vindicated each time I take one down. One less to worry about. Not that I had to worry about them, but I did not want Rachel or Marcus to know about that just yet. I stand up and walk forward towards the town. Up ahead I can see the tops of the buildings rising behind the horizon. Long lost skyscrapers which are now just empty tombs jutting towards the sky.

  The world as I know it has no more hope left within it. I often wonder what my life would have been if the fall of humanity had never happened. I collected bits and pieces over the years of what might have been like. The lay of the cities alone gives me enough information. They were a busy lot, the people who lived before. The empty concrete streets gave evidence of rushing here and there, the sheer number of vehicles left abandoned in their tracks.

  A few years ago, I collected some pictures from a school I had found inside one of the large buildings. The empty halls were lined with photographs of children, groups of about thirty, with one adult standing next to them, all of them smiling out at me from the frame. I can only guess what the purpose was of the pictures and what the role was of the adult. I remember trailing my fingers over the faces behind the smooth glass, wondering what their lives consisted of, what they talked about, what food did they eat?

  I remember little, but I still recall the presence of the woman in white whose face I can not recall. She showed me kindness, how to fight and how to protect myself. These traits had always been something I assumed everyone had, but as I move through this world, I learn over and over again that this is not the case.

  The familiarity of my surroundings increased the closer I got to the middle of the city. The buildings loom around me now, creating a semblance of walls as I walk down the center of the street, unconsciously following the yellow painted double line. Keeping the space around me away from walls and windows ensured that nothing would reach out and grab me. Here and there I see a few of them clustered and stranded under shadowed corners, unable to turn, reaching through bars of windows and vents, through the grating on the sidewalks and alongside the buildings.

  I ignore them and move towards my destination. The roads, the signs, the shapes of the buildings, all become increasingly familiar as I walk. A meaningless word I had heard a long time ago, Deja Vu, creeps into my mind. The building had once been a hotel, yet another piece of evidence that leads me to believe there had once been more people, many more if they existed enough to fill the building this size. The glass doors welcome me as friendly as the maniacal grin of a carnival clown.

  I push open the doors and step into the lobby.

  The flash of returning memory nearly kicks me back off my feet.

  The glare of the sun on the marble floor; the new dusty smell of the chemicals permeating the building. I remember that the upper half of the building had been converted into apartments. Most of the doctors and scientists lived there. It creeps up on me slowly, the realization that the entire structure had once been a self-sustaining community. Shops, grocery, clothing, on the first three floors. Then the laboratories beginning on the floors above the arboretum. It all comes back, tumblers in a lock falling into place, opening up the doorway to my memories.

  My stomach drops with a feeling of vertigo as a memory of an elevator washes over me. I reach out and catch myself against the back of a faded chair. The table in the center of the lobby is rotted through; the legs laying crooked and broken, the top askew against the marble floor. I have a sudden vision of myself as a child, surrounded on all sides by mirrored glass, my own face, a million times curving away into infinity. My hand is tucked into the hand of the woman in white standing next to me, warm and happy as she smiles down at me. Her face has a crinkle around her eyes. As clear as day I see the curve of her lips, the whiteness of her teeth.

  The elevator doors open and we step out, turning left. I see a flash of the office door within the view of my hazy memory. Room 642. That is where I need to get to. I shake my head and look up at the high vaulted ceiling above the now empty balconies. Darkened shadows seem to move in the tomb-like silence.

  The elevators would be out of service. Good thing I know where the stairs are. I cross the lobby to the small green door behind the elevators. I know better than to just open it outright. A building of this size and height would not be fully abandoned. Not completely.

  Slowly I slip the handle of my knife into the palm of my hand before I reach for the door knob. The weight of the crossbow is comforting against my back. I know I won't be able to use it in the close quarters but at least I know where it is. Part of me wishes I still had the other knife too, the one I had left behind with Rachel and Marcus. But they need it. I would find a way to make do. I open the door quickly with my weapon raised, prepared for the possibility of a mini-hoard pressing against it from the stairway.

  It is vacant.

  I exhale, taking careful steps forward, making my way into the first landing. I turn and note the number of the door behind me. L1. A staircase leads up to the next landing and another down into the basement area. I had never been down there, but I recall there are several layers of sub-basements.

  I stop and listen.

  If there is anything moving in the upper levels I cannot hear it, but the same cannot be said for the basement. The growling, grasping, sickeningly slick sounds of the creatures rises up from the lower levels. That many caught together, unable to escape have most likely turned on each other. I could only imagine what horrors the lower levels have become. Nothing but a mass of rotted bones and decaying meat, writhing on itself in the ultimate orgy of the macabre.

  I press myself against the wall, glancing upwards and keeping my free hand on the strap of my crossbow. Close quarters often make for difficult self-defense. I stretch my head around trying to gauge the six flights I have to get to my destination. Back to the wall, eyes upwards, I move forward one careful step at a time, unable to fully see what may be around the corner. I make it to the second landing.

  And then the third.

  If it comes down to it, I know I can slip back into the doorway mirroring the one I had entered on Level One, although that would put me back into another place I would have to clear out. Might as well stay put, I decide. By the time I get to the fourth landing, I start to hear a distant rasping sound. Scratches against a concrete wall. Bloodied fingertips pressing against the surface, acting out the illusion of life itself. They just know forward; I think to myself. Nothing more. They had become so status quo I hardly consider a solitary one to be much of a danger anymore. Regardless I do not like to be around them any more than I have to.

  I ascend up to the next level. Up ahead I can see it, trapped on the landing, walking back and forth adjacent to the door. Running into the corner wall, turning on shuffling feet and back towards the other wall. And again. Back and forth like a broken toy. I watch him for a few minutes, noticing every time it touches a part of the wall it leaves a nasty red smudge of viscera behind.

  By the looks of it, it had been trapped here for a while. I could not fathom how it became trapped in the first place as there are no marks on the stairs either coming or going. It wears a standard lab coat, long since faded brown through with blood and dirt. I would have to
kill it if I wanted to get past, even though the thought of getting close to it gives my stomach flip flops.

  Oh, well. If I want to get passed I have to do what I have to do.

  I wait until it turns away from me before I take the last few steps to the landing. Moving in quick strides I pike it in the fleshy hollow between the ear and the jawline, wincing as the black ichor spurts out. It falls limp. I am able to pull my knife out before it wobbles and pitches over the side of the railing, spinning in gruesome free fall down to the lower levels. At any rate, that would give them down there something new to munch on.

  The last two flights have no noticeable threats. I make my way up to the level, still holding my knife, and keeping my eyes open. Another doorway marked L6 in those large blue letters. I stop at the door and place my ear as close as I can.

  I hear nothing.

  Except that the door is remarkably thick, enough to block out any noise perhaps. I test the door handle. Not locked. The security system has shut itself off long ago. I open the door and step through. The vacant hallway stretches out on either side of me.

  642.

  If there are, in fact, forty-two rooms on this level then I have my work cut out for me. I try to stretch my mind to allow a flow of memories, which might make it easier for me to find my way around. I have been here before. That much is certain, but I have no recollection of how or when. Relying only on guesswork I turn right, taking my time down the hallway. I do not hear anything threatening retreating or moving around, but I had been fooled before.

  I always have my senses on high alert, especially in an unfamiliar place such as this. I cannot stay against the wall as I had in the stairway as there are doors on either side, some open, some closed, none of them locked. Papers and broken vials spilled out into the hallway, an indication of the panic which set in when the world fell.

  The hallway echoes silence as I move forward.

  I begin to feel pretty confident that I am not alone. I cannot hear anything other than the sound of my own footsteps, scraping against the floor and displacing the papers and glass shards. They would have been one of the first to evacuate. I have a small flash of memory at this location in the hallway, something to do with the alarm. I can very nearly hear the sound of the dim buzz echoing off the walls.