Buried Flames (2 page)

Mason gave a resigned sigh upon realizing Brenna wasn’t going anywhere without some answers to her questions. He’d known her for most of his life—hell, they’d even dated in high school for a while. It had been a lifetime ago, but she hadn’t changed much in the time he’d been gone or the years since he’d been back home purposefully avoiding anything to do with her on a personal level. She was tenacious, intelligent, selfless, and downright beautiful in her own little pixie style. She certainly didn’t deserve what was about to happen to civilization, especially the way people would turn on one another when things got real bad, but there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do to stop it—including him.

“Come on inside while I gather up a few things,” Mason said reluctantly, torn between the precious moments needed for his upcoming journey and Brenna’s need for answers. Did he owe her some kind of explanation? Maybe. He stepped onto the freshly painted wooden porch and opened the screen door, doing his best to ignore the fact his hard work would all be destroyed when the ash settled. He was grateful the house had been maintained a hell of a lot better than the barn. It had been weakened as additions had been added over the years to accommodate larger farming equipment. The original heavy framing had been cut into to tie in the needed supports for the extra space. He’d taken care of this house just as she’d taken care of hers. Without any major modifications, the original structure had weathered the initial blast. “You might learn a thing or two if you keep an eye on what I’m doing and not talk my leg off.”

“Don’t go getting all high and mighty, Mason,” Brenna warned, taking off her other glove and shoving the pair into one of the back pockets of her jeans. She followed him into the house and he couldn’t help but notice her eyes drifting everywhere. He couldn’t blame her, really. He wasn’t one for having company and he’d kept his distance from those in town on purpose. Adjusting to civilian life after the military hadn’t come easy for him. It was somewhat funny how he was being thrown back into a situation that would require his hard-earned skills from the service. “I know enough to run my own farm, which I now need to leave behind like everyone else. I still can’t get my head around that. Come here.”

“Brenna—”

“You’re bleeding from the scalp.” Brenna didn’t even glance back at him as she made her way over to the sink as if it were her own kitchen. Hell, she’d been in this place a lot during their high school years before his foster mother had passed away years ago. This farm had been used to house orphans from the surrounding area who were headed down the wrong path, that lowly description ultimately summing up his entire childhood. Anita Dunst had died all alone well before he’d gotten his first deployment under his belt, but he’d always known he’d wanted to come back here to the ranch. It had been the only home he’d ever truly known for most of his teens. He couldn’t resist lifting a hand to his face once he sensed dampness on his forehead. “See? It looks as if you’re human after all. It’s even red like the rest of us civilians.”

Mason didn’t comment as he brought his fingers away covered in sticky blood. He knew full well what Brenna thought of him. He hadn’t been the boy she’d known back then once he’d returned to Harpersfield, but instead a damaged man coming home to lick his wounds by himself. He hadn’t been fit for company and he still wasn’t…that was by choice. He liked his solitude. He’d wanted privacy and he’d gotten it, despite Brenna and the other townsfolk’s attempts at drawing him back into their little community.

It wasn’t as if Brenna had waited for him. They’d agreed in their senior year to go their separate ways, especially due to his enlistment and her earning a scholarship to the small community college in Grand Island. Had Mason thought she might still be available upon coming home? Yeah, he had, but that had all changed when…he pushed the memories aside. It didn’t matter.

“Brenna, we don’t have time for Twenty Questions and—”

“We’ve been over that.” Brenna ran a paper towel underneath the stream of fresh water coming out of the faucet. At least the well pump still had power, once again drawing his thoughts to the aftereffects of the eruption. Water would be contaminated, the air polluted with ash, and all communication devices would cease to work once the ash cloud arrived. They were about to be thrown back into the Stone Ages and she was worried about a little cut. “Sit.”

Mason didn’t have it in him to sit and he would have ordered Brenna out of his house had she been anyone else standing in front of him. Her blue eyes were now clouded with worry, having full comprehension of how bad things were about to get. This was it. This was the end game for everyone whether they knew it or not.

Mason finally grunted in agreement as he walked over to the old kitchen chair and pulled it out from the table. The 1970s décor hadn’t changed much, but then again, he hadn’t spent much time indoors decorating. He’d scooped this place up the moment it had come onto the market. He hadn’t cared that it had sat empty until he’d served out his time, but his gut twisted at the thought of leaving all this behind forever. It had been his sanctuary for so long and now even that would be gone.

“You don’t have a choice but to accept what is happening.” Mason tried his best not to breathe in her sweet scent, but then changed his mind. It would give him something to think on when his face was covered with a gasmask preventing the ash from being drawn into his lungs and drowning him in mud. The harsh reality of what was to come had him continuing this quick discussion. “I’ll try to make this short and brief. A friend of mine, Mav Beckett, is still up in Washington State near the Canadian border on this side of the Rockies. A group of us who served together still use our annual vacations to spend time with our old Master Gunnery Sergeant. Honestly, we all thought he’d lost his mind with this end-of-time prepping shit. Ernie has a place up in the mountains that could very well be protected from what the world is about to face…at least there could be a chance of making a go of it.”

“Didn’t you just get home from that trip?” Brenna asked, pressing the warm-soaked kitchen towel to Mason’s wound. It wasn’t the only one he had on his body, but those had physically healed long ago. He winced when she pressed a little too hard against the cut. “Wait. You’re not thinking of going to Washington, are you? You’d be headed directly into the ash and—”

Mason caught Brenna’s wrist, tossing away the thought that it was the first time he’d voluntarily touched a woman in far too long. He slowly lowered her arm, doing his best to reassure her with his eyes that everything would work out when he honestly didn’t think it would. The odds weren’t stacked in their favor.

“Which is why you’re going east with the rest of your friends,” Mason instructed quietly, taking the wet towel from her hand. He stood and tossed it into the sink, not worrying about cleaning up anymore. There would be nothing salvageable from this place after the next twelve hours elapsed anyway. “Brenna, the Yellowstone supervolcano is one of the largest calderas in the world. The impact of its eruption will be unlike anything anyone has ever seen. It’s unprecedented and the devastation will wipe most of what we know as civilization off the face of the earth. I told you before and I’ll tell you again—you need to do as the government has instructed. Pack what you need, stay with a number of folks you trust, and go east.”

“Do you have a death wish or something?” Brenna asked harshly, stepping in front of Mason when he would have brushed past her to fetch the bags and supplies he’d set down in the living room. The desperation inside of her was finally making itself known and he truly wished he could make this better for her. “Come with me.”

“No.” Mason all but moved Brenna to the side, his large frame nearly twice her size. She’d always been petite, but he also remembered she was one hell of a shooter. She’d fare just fine in this type of environment, but he could give her advice that would help during the days ahead. “My brothers-in-arms are all headed to Washington. I’ll be right behind them, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be taking a risk to make it through the harsh elements I’ll be up against. We’re talking low visibility in the ash, colder weather due to the unusual heavy cloud cover, limited amounts of food and clean water, and that’s not to mention the desperate people I’ll come in contact with who would do anything to get at my supplies…they may even attempt to kill me. I won’t jeopardize anyone’s life on the slim chance that I’ll even make it to join my fellow Marines in Washington.”

“Except your own? You never used to be this selfish,” Brenna whispered accusingly with such a stark fear he could feel the air tremor with emotion. Mason rubbed his left arm through the fabric of his shirt, the damaged flesh of his scars actually becoming irritated. Damn it. She was bringing up ancient history when the past didn’t matter anymore. “You have the ability to help these people make it to the East Coast. You said yourself that what we’re facing is beyond dangerous, so why not become their protector?”

“I’m no one’s protector anymore, Brenna.” Mason was glad she’d said that, because it put him back on solid ground. He unzipped one of the two bags he’d set down on the couch with one angry motion, pulling out a gasmask. “Here. Take this. You’ll need it.”

Ernie “Tank” Yates, his old Master Gunnery Sergeant who Mason had mentioned to Brenna earlier, was what a lot of people considered a prepper. He even went so far as to build a bunker up at his hunting and fishing lodge with the help of his old team of former active duty Marines. There were five team members in total, including Mason. Mav was already up in Washington and the others—Berke, Owen, and Van—were hopefully on their way with the emergency provisions Tank had helped to stock them with over the years. The old man was wise beyond convention and had always looked out for his men.

“These here are the replacement filters,” Mason added on, handing her the essential box of canisters and ignoring the rapid shake of her head. Brenna was now refusing to face the fact this was actually happening. He shoved the cardboard carton into her left hand anyway and then zipped up the satchel. The two leathered bags would easily attach to the saddle’s tie downs, which he was certain he’d be forced to use within hours after setting out, given his truck’s engine would only last so long once he started driving north-northwest into the oncoming ash cloud. His only worry was how he would be able to keep the horses’ lungs clear, but he had at least five hours to think on it and enough materials to make it work. “Now go. You’re wasting time. I can guarantee that people are packing their vehicles and heading out already. You need to be with them when they leave.”

Mason grabbed the already packed large rucksacks, sending a thank you to his friends for the early notice and then walked passed Brenna to the front door. He didn’t mean to be a hard ass with her, but the sooner she realized the world was now facing an apocalypse…the better. He kicked open the screened entry with his boot and then quickly descended the porch steps. Both of them had the forethought to look up into the sky, but it was still a clear crystal blue without a bird in sight. It was also unnervingly silent.

“What do you think will happen once, or if, we reach the East Coast?”

Brenna had asked the question so softly that Mason wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. He’d already opened the passenger door of his truck, pulling on the inside handle of the second half-door to set his bags on the backseat with the rest of his gear. He didn’t want to answer her question, but he’d also never lie to her. He might be a son-of-a-bitch, but he had his own moral code. He took the time to formulate his words as he shut his truck up tight, not wanting to give her false hope.

“You stand a better chance of making it there than most folks.” Mason finally turned to face Brenna, who was still clutching the gasmask and the package of filters to her chest. “Mav was saying Tank had calculated the ash hitting the East Coast within roughly seventy-two hours. So we’re talking about eighty-five percent of the United States being buried underneath a solid layer of residue that is made of pulverized rock and shards of glass. Those particles will turn to cement if it hits the lining of your lungs, which is why the gasmask is so important. If it rains? Well, the ash will double its mass and basically collapse most wooden structures underneath its increased weight. There isn’t anywhere that’s truly safe, but you’ll at least have a better shot at survival if you start heading east…now.”

Brenna pursed her lips as she slowly exhaled the air from her body. It wasn’t his intention to amplify her fear, but she needed to hear this if she were to have any chance at all of survival. Mason wasn’t sure what the President had to say in his speech, but he doubted it was the cold-hard facts that would in all probability incite riots. Unfortunately, those would happen anyway. It was unavoidable.

“Make sure you’re carrying your personal sidearm at all times.” Mason’s chest tightened at the thought of Brenna on her own, but then he reminded himself she wouldn’t be. Kody, Leroy, the Hicks family, and the Walker brothers would make sure she was with them for the entire journey. No doubt they were already at her farm and wondering where she had gotten off to. Besides, he’d forfeited his right to her a long time ago. “The gasmask alone will make you a target, let alone any other supplies you might have with you that other people need.”

“Just…just give me another minute,” Brenna said with slight desperation as she followed him back around to the trailer. Mason made sure everything was secure. These horses would be his only chance once he hit Montana. “You never answered my question as to why you’re going to try and make it to Washington. All because your friends will be trying to do the same thing for a
slight
chance that an area
might
be protected enough to survive? That makes no sense, Mason.”

“It does to me.” Mason was finally ready to leave, so he turned to face Brenna for their final goodbye. He didn’t need for her to understand his reasoning or his connection to these men he’d served with. He would never be able to explain to her the trust they shared for each other’s welfare. If they said Washington was the place to be, then that’s where he would go without question. She clearly had some deep-seated guilt at the thought of traveling east without him. He honestly didn’t deserve anything she felt for him based on how he’d all but ignored her for the last few years. “Now go. You’ll be in good company with people who will all watch out for one another.”