The Ashes: an Eden prequel (3 page)

I hesitate at the front door.  Stella knew what I was in for and that I shouldn’t be outside of the prison for the rest of my days.  But the way the lawn is overgrown, the way her tiny, annoying dog isn’t barking like a maniac tells me that whatever madness has touched the world had made its way into Stella’s house.

I push the ajar door open.

There’s a smell that hits me as soon as I walk inside.  It’s pretty hard to mistake the smell of rotting flesh.  Not something you encounter every day, but you know exactly what it is when you smell it.

The front foyer is a mess.  All the fancy vases and plates and whatever else it was Stella and Rich collected are smashed into tiny pieces on the marble floor.  The house is silent as I make my way across the debris toward the living room.

The main living area is devoid of any life, in the same state of broken chaos.  I find the kitchen empty as well.

It’s been nearly eight years since I’ve been in the house, so it takes me a moment to bring up a mental map of where I might find Stella or Rich.  Careful to make sure my feet are soundless, I make my way toward the back of the house.

The smell grows stronger as I approach the door to Uncle Rich’s office.  My weakened stomach threatens to lose the tiny amount of food I have in my system.

Finally, I step inside.

Uncle Rich is lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling with red, wide, dead eyes.  He’s a strange blue gray mixture.  And there is a ring of bruises around his throat.

Someone choked the life out of Uncle Rich and left him here to rot.

I’m about to leave, but as I turn to go, I freeze in place.  Adrenaline burns through my veins.

Aunt Stella is standing just to the side of the door and she’s staring straight at me with metallic, empty eyes.

I take a step away from her, back into the office.  I’m careful not to step on Rich.

Stella doesn’t move.  She stares out into the room, completely motionless, like she’s frozen in place.

There’s a big section of skin missing from the lower left side of her face.  Where her jaw bone should be, there is a shiny metal plate gleaming in the evening light.

I don’t dare breathe.  I saw what those things did as I made my way to this house.  They’d tried ripping the police car apart and very nearly succeeded.  As soon as I got to the middle of town they were coming out of thin air, leaping at the car with their dead eyes, disoriented but aggressive.

But Stella is just standing there, frozen, like she’s not even real.

I brave a small wave, just a quick back and forth motion in front of her with my hand.

She still doesn’t move.

Holding my breath, I step out of the office, and make my way back toward the kitchen.

Every survival instinct in me screams that I should get out of this house and get back in that police car.  But the need to know what happened to my only living family pushes my hand into my back pocket and pulls out the envelope I found on the warden’s desk.  The letter addressed to me.

It was postmarked eight weeks ago.

NOVATOR BIOTICS WOULD LIKE TO OFFER YOU THEIR CONDOLENCES IN THE LOSS OF STELLA VERREL.  HER LOSS WAS A RESULT OF UNSEEN COMPLICATIONS OF HER TORBANE HEART UPGRADE.  ENCLOSED IS A COPY OF HER WILL.

There isn’t even a signature on the page.  Just one other page behind that states that I am to inherit everything.  It’s an old document.  Aunt Stella and Uncle Rich had it written up before I was convicted.

I knew Stella had been on a waiting list for years, hoping for a new heart to replace the one that had been failing her.  I didn’t know anything about an “upgrade” or TorBane but it sounds like she’d turned into a killer robot freak because of it.

A loud slapping sound just about makes me piss myself and the pages fall from my hands as I crouch behind a chair.  But I see that it was just a book, fallen off a shelf.  There is a pile of books slouching.  I dart over to them before any more of them call fall and possibly wake Stella.  If she’s really sleeping.  I have no idea what is going on with her.

Not waiting any longer, I dart up the stairs toward their bedroom.

My nerves are strung out, my hands are shaking, and I’m fighting back emotions I haven’t allowed myself to feel for seven years.  But I have to get out of here, and I have to prepare.

Rich was a bit smaller than myself, but his clothes will be better than the gray ones marked CORRECTIONAL INSTITUTION.  I rifle through his closet, pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.  As I’m digging through the back of his closet, hoping he’ll have a pair of boots that will fit me, my fingers brush something hard on a low shelf.

I pull out the rifle, careful to keep my finger off the trigger since the safety is off.  I check it and find it loaded.  The thing is ancient, but if Rich had it hidden and loaded with the safety disengaged, I have to wonder if he planned on using it on his wife.

If only she hadn’t choked the life out of him first.

I find a pair of boots that are tight but will do for now.  I also dig up a backpack and store one of my handguns in an easily accessible pocket.  Grabbing a few more items of clothing, I silently make my way back downstairs with the shotgun in hand.

No sign that Stella’s moved, I head back for the kitchen.  I don’t bother opening the fridge.  Anything in it will be long spoiled.  Instead I head for the pantry.

I load up on canned goods, anything that looks non-perishable.  I also shove in as many water bottles as I can.  All the while I’m stuffing my face with crackers, my stomach growling ravenously.  The backpack is heavy and solid feeling when I pick it back up.

When I flip the light switch in the garage, the lights flicker.  I jangle the keys in my hand for a second, debating.

There’s a flashy sports car and an SUV parked inside.

Speed would be nice, considering what I’ve just seen in the city, but I decide something a little more solid and dependable is what I need.

Opening the garage door makes me flinch.  It pops and groans as it lifts.  I don’t wait to see if it has woken Stella as I toss my pack into the passenger seat and start it up.  I back out of the garage and pull onto the suburban street.

40°6’30.28”N  71°32’24.79”W

Darkness falls, making the world outside feel all the more ominous.  I keep my headlights off, just to be safe as I drive down the highway.  I haven’t the faintest idea where I’m going or what I’m going to do.  I just know that I’ve got to get away from people.

Getting away from people means getting out of the city.

I flip the radio on.

The auto search scans through channels.  It finds some station playing oldies, but after listening for twenty minutes or so, I never hear a DJ come on the air.  It must be a recording.  I push the seek button again and listen to silence for a few moments.

“—recorded broadcast,” a voice blares through the speakers.  It’s scratchy and threatens to cut out.  “The outbreak has spread through all fifty US states.  Reports in Mexico, Canada, and many European countries—”  The radio starts to cut out.  “—ator Biotics is currently under investigation.  However, most employees have fallen to the infection.  It is being reported the war efforts in the southern United States have ceased, unresolved.  No reports on the war in Asia or Europe.”

The broadcast ends with the time and date the message was recorded.  Twenty-two days ago.

My guess is that there isn’t anyone left to update the broadcast.

I flip the radio off and stare at the dark road ahead of me.

It’s been years since I’ve driven in the area so I have to go off of my sense of direction and a mental map of the state to try and avoid the more densely populated areas.  But when you live out this direction you can’t avoid city.  When I see signs for the next town, I press hard on the gas, watching the speedometer creep up past the one hundred mile per hour marker.

There are cars abandoned on the sides of the freeway.  They’re mangled and crunched, just like the police car I left back at Aunt Stella’s.  Apparently I’m not the only one they’re attacking.

I keep an eye out for any movement.  I’m not sure what I’m going to do if I see anyone else out driving, or see anyone who looks like they might still be human.  I guess I’ll deal with that when the time arises.  But for now I’m just going to get out of the metro area as quickly as possible.

I drive for another two hours when a loud beeping sound from the car makes me jump violently.  I look down at the dash to see a red light telling me to refuel.  The needle on the gas gage is overlapping the empty line.

Pounding a fist on the steering wheel, I curse under my breath.  I’ve still got about two hours before I’m out of this crowded part of the country and into the beginnings of the cover of the mid-west.

I have no choice but to look for whatever exit has gas signs.  I keep my headlights off and I can barely see the road as I pull off the ramp and come to a stop at the intersection. 

There are cars on the road everywhere, abandoned.  I look both ways, seeing only empty roads.  Spotting a gas station to the right, I turn the wheel.

I roll up to the station slowly.  Many of the street lights have been taken out along the road, but there are two still on in the overhead cover.  I debate for a second after parking, but end up pulling out one of the handguns and taking the two remaining lights out.  The moon is barely half full, but it provides just enough light to see by.

I grab Uncle Rich’s wallet from my pack and pull out his shiny silver card.  Praying the pump is still working, even with no one to attend it, I slide the card in and out.  Both to my relief and panic it beeps loudly and asks me to select a fuel type.

While the gas fills the tank, I take both the ancient rifle and a handgun to scope out the inside of the gas station.  Keeping out of full view of the windows, I peer around the corner and inside the building.

I can’t see anyone inside and there isn’t any movement.  Holding my breath, and keeping my eye on the sight of the rifle, I approach.  A bell jingles softly as I push the door open.  There are goods strewn across the floor, bags and crumbs crunching under my boots.  My eyes scan the walls, not having to travel far in the small space.

The building is empty.

I feel only a little guilty when I start gathering food up into a box.  I set it on the counter and walk around to check the till.  Considering the current state of the world, I doubt I’m going to need cash money for a very long time, but it couldn’t hurt to have it.

My feet stop just short of stepping on the body.

There is a man lying on the floor.  Through the dark I can’t really see many details, but I can tell he’s dead and not sleeping like Aunt Stella.  I’m pretty sure the dark halo around his head is blood.  He’s got a shotgun lying next to him.

Careful not to step in the blood and leave tracks that I was here, I cross to the register.  It takes me a moment to figure out how to open the cash drawer but it finally pops open.

I wasn’t the first to find the body.  The drawer has already been cleaned out.

I shake my head as I turn back to the dead man and relieve him of his firearm.  I find a box of ammunition under the counter.  When the world starts to go to hell, you always chose a weapon over money.

The tank is filled when I get back outside.  I hook the nozzle back in its place and set my new box of food supplies in the back of the SUV.  I’m about to hop back in when I notice the building across the street.

It’s a sporting goods store.

I’m torn as I look back toward the SUV and then back to the store again.  In the end I can’t resist and switch Uncle Rich’s shot gun for the newer one.  I check the ammunition and then silently cross the street.