The Ashes: an Eden prequel (5 page)

Where is going to be secluded?  What place is going to have the most natural resources?  Where do I stand a chance of not freezing to death when winter comes?

Unfortunately the last two considerations war with each other.

I finally pick a green place on the map and started plotting my route.

I’ll travel parallel to the main highways that would lead to it, but stay away from the busy freeways that would cut too close to the cities, and therefore the zombiebots. 

Packing takes careful consideration.  I can’t fit everything in my pack.  The thing would weigh well over one hundred fifty pounds.  And I have a long way to walk. 

In the end I pack enough food to last me a week and enough water to last me five days.  I’ll have to rely on the land after that, or dare raiding a house or whatever place I might find.  I pack two handguns and the better shotgun, and as much of the ammunition I can carry.  And then I tuck in the atlas.

Patting the hood of the SUV once, I start down the road.

35°45’51.63”N  83°5’22.58”W

I walk.

And I walk.

And I hide and sleep during the day.

Then I keep walking when it’s dark.

I walk for a very long time.

32°30’1.78”N  91°20’25.19”W

I have too much time to think.

But I can’t make sense of what’s happened to our world.

Whatever this company is, NovaTor Biotics, I can only assume they did something that caused all of this.  Aunt Stella was getting a new heart or something.  An upgrade.  The letter said something about TorBane.  And then she turned into one of those things.  It must have spread, taken over her body.

And they’re aggressive.  But not so much like they’re trying to kill me.  More like they’re trying to just get a hold of me.

That must be how it spreads.

It must be deadly effective if it spread this fast.

And something about the city must draw them.  There are thousands of them there.

But none of them out here on the back roads.

35°7’11.67”N  95°4’32.46”W

There’s mud caked on my boots, two inches thick on the tops of my toe.  My clothes are soaked through but I feel like I’m burning on the inside.  And the water just keeps coming down.

I survived the mountain.  I’ve started across the level ground.  I’ve kept out of sight of the zombiebots for weeks now.

And it’s the rain that threatens to kill me.

You never think you’ll forget what it feels like to be dry.  But after being in the rain for four days straight, I have forgotten.

My feet falter.  I stumble and let myself fall to my hands and knees on the pavement.  My insides feel stiff and hot.  My arms shake, not wanting to support my weight any longer.  Suddenly my stomach is touching the ground and my left cheek hurts from the rough surface of the road.

I don’t think I can get up.  But I’m afraid I may drown if I don’t.

But I don’t think I can get up.

37°9’5.61”N  97°53’17.46”W

I hear something in the distance.  Thunder?  A lawn mower?  A helicopter?  A plane?

I open my eyes just slightly, blinking drops of rain from my eyelashes.  I push myself up from the ground just a bit.  As I turn my head, I feel a stream of water run from my ear.  I really did nearly drown.  It was also the reason I couldn’t really hear.

Shifting my weight back, I now know the sound is a car.  Or more like a truck.  It sounds big.  And it is coming my way.

My insides don’t feel so hot and I don’t ache as badly.  My fever must have broken.  But my body still protests as I climb to my feet and look down the road.  I then realize that it has finally stopped raining.

There is a truck driving toward me, about half a mile away.

I consider darting back off the road, but there is no way they wouldn’t have seen me and there is nothing to hide behind out here in flat-country USA.  So I move to the side of the road, watching as they drive toward me.

The truck slows as it approaches.  Like the SUV I had to leave behind, most of its windows are busted out.  Its sides are dented and beaten.  I can actually see the form of a handprint in the driver’s side door.

The vehicle has barely stopped moving when two men jump out.  They’ve got shotguns leveled on my chest.  There’s a wild look in their eyes.  One of them has a long scar running down the left side of his face.  It cuts across his eye.  The eye doesn’t look quite right, like it was damaged pretty bad.  The other walks with a serious limp.

“Just hand over the pack and we’ll let you live,” Scarface says.  He takes quick, jerky steps toward me.  Gimpy takes one step forward.  He’s hurt pretty bad is my guess.

“How do you know I’ve got anything you want?” I say, raising my hands at my sides.  I wouldn’t have done that if not for the handgun I can feel weighing my left side pocket down.

Scarface laughs in a crazy way that matches his eyes.  “I ain’t playing games with you.  Just hand it over and we’ll let you walk away.”

“I don’t think so,” I say.  I take a step toward him. 

“Hold it right there!” Scarface shouts.  “Don’t take another step.  You just toss that pack over.”

Never losing his eyes, I take another step forward, moving to his left, bad side, just a bit. 

“I said stop movin’!” he yells, spit flying from his mouth.

“You hungry?” I ask as I take another step toward them.  We’re only five yards apart now.

“Course we’re hungry,” he growls.  “There’s no food left anywhere.  Not after the territory wars.”

I’ve never heard anything about the territory wars but I can guess what it means.  Guys like this will fight over anything. 

“I can spare one can of beans but I can’t let you take anything else,” I say, taking another step.

He does that crazy laugh again, but I see something flash across his eyes.

I’m close enough to confirm what I speculated.

His safety isn’t pulled back.  The gun isn’t loaded.

My eyes flick over to Gimpy.  His is though.

“I’m not giving you my pack,” I say, keeping my voice calm.  I come to a stop.  “Like I said, I’ll give you one can.”

“I don’t think so,” Scarface’s eyes harden.  “Now hand it over or I’ll make a crater in your chest.”

“No deal,” I say.

And I don’t wait for him to react.  I drop my shoulder and run at him full speed.  I knock him flat on his back, swinging my elbow up as he goes down to connect with his jaw.

I turn toward Gimpy and duck as he pulls the trigger.  The shot grazes my left arm, splitting the skin open but not causing major damage.  I ram into him and knock him to the ground as well.  I grab his shotgun before either of them can recover and fling it far off the road.

Leveling my handgun on Scarface since he seems to be the one in charge, I tug my other gun from the side pocket of the pack.  Gimpy gets a good view of the inside of the barrel next.

“I’m going to let you get up, get back in your truck, and drive back the way you came,” I say, my voice quiet.  My insides are quivering from fatigue.  Whatever sickness that has been burning me from the inside isn’t ready to let me go just yet.

They look at each other, uncertain of what to do.

“I’m going to say this again,” I growl.  “Get up, get back in the truck, and go back the way you came.”

They share another look, then slowly start to get to their feet.  They raise their hands, and both take a step away from me.

And then their eyes flicker toward each other once more.  With a loud yell, they both rush at me.

I fire two shots and one takes Gimpy to the ground.  Scarface knocks me to the road.

With the pack on my back it’s difficult to maneuver.  Scarface locks a hand around my throat and lands a blow with his right fist to my cheekbone.

I jerk a knee up between his legs and he hunches over at the same time I connect my forehead with the bridge of his nose.  I flip over, pinning him down and landing one blow to his eye to return the favor.

Grabbing my fallen handgun from the pavement, I place the barrel right between his eyes.

“This one really is loaded,” I say, trying to steady my breathing.  “And I’ll shoot you if you try something like that again.  So you’re going to get your bleeding friend over there and leave.  Now.”

I can’t tell if the guy looks afraid or mad.  His eyes are five different kinds of crazy.  But he gives the smallest of nods.

Slowly, I shift off of him and we both get to our feet.  He walks over to Gimpy, who’s cradling a bleeding shoulder.  Scarface looks back at me once again.  I nod, and they slowly make their way back to the truck.

Scarface gets Gimpy into the passenger seat and walks around to the other side.  He opens the door and looks back toward me.

“I ever see you again, you’re a dead man,” he says with venom in his voice.

“Trust me, I don’t plan on ever seeing you again,” I reply, giving a flicking motion with the gun in my right hand, indicating that it’s time for him to leave.

He climbs in the truck and flips around.  A minute later I can’t see him anymore.

Calming my shaking breathing, I turn and start back down the road.

37°9’5.61”N  97°53’17.46”W

Everywhere seems the same.  Cars are abandoned, beaten and trashed.  Cities are to be avoided.  People are best to be avoided too if possible.

I keep walking.

I check the map.

I move toward the green area.

37°44’17.3”N  107°23’36.92”W

There is something comfortable about the trees that surround me.  They feel protective.  At first I didn’t like feeling blinded by them, but now they feel almost as if they’re guarding me.

I’m not sure about much these days, but I’m pretty sure none of those robotic freaks are going to find me out here.

Setting my pack down on the mossy ground, I pull out my sharpest knife.  I look at my reflection as I lean over the water.  My hair hangs down well over my ears and my beard barely brushes my chest.

I don’t even recognize the man I’m seeing.

That isn’t the man that accidently got all those people killed.  That isn’t the man who was sentenced to finish out the rest of his days behind bars.  It isn’t the man who was so angry and violent behind bars that he got stuffed in the SHU to live out his life in isolation.

But that man is a man who has survived.  That is a man that is still alive and still human.  That is a man who has gotten the chance to rise out of the ashes to be reborn again.