World of Ashes (51 page)

             
Grabbing the mike for the loud speaker Lee pressed the button. “This is a military convoy. We are armed. Remove the roadblock and get out of the way.” There was no response. None of the gang members even acted like they were going to try to communicate. Lee tried again. “I repeat, this is an armed military convoy. If you do not move the roadblock, we will move it for you.”

             
Ethan looked at the gunner, wishing Allen were there. He patted the kid on the leg, “You got a round chambered?”

             
“Weapon’s hot, sir.” The soldier responded.

             
“Good.” Ethan leaned forward, “Why don’t I get out and go talk to them?”

             
Lee looked back, “Are you crazy? This isn’t the small group we expected to deal with. These fuckers are organized.”

             
“Exactly. You don’t have that kind of organization without a strong leader.” Ethan pointed to a large black man in the center of the gang’s group. “See that Mad Max lookin’ motherfucker over there? Ten to one that’s him. Besides, what else am I on this trip for? Maybe they’ll respond better to civilian authority, ya know?”

             
“Fine.” Lee nodded. It was worth a try if it avoided bloodshed.

             
Ethan popped the door open, which on an up-armored M1117 weighed several hundred pounds and required some leverage to be put into it. He started forward with his hands visible and not on his weapon long before he realized someone was behind him. It was Keith.

             
“Hey, get back in the truck.” Ethan ordered.

             
“I have an extra bag of medical supplies here.” Keith pointed to the backpack he had on. “We can probably buy passage with this. Won’t even need to threaten them.”

             
Ethan shrugged. “Whatever. Better than my idea I guess. I was just gonna tell them they had two minutes to move their shit before we came through, end of story.”

             
Keith laughed as they walked towards the group, “I don’t think it will come to that. They just want the same things we do. We could probably even trade some food and drinks. Who knows the last time these people might have seen a Pepsi.”

             
They got within twenty feet of the closest guard. These people were right out of a 1980’s post-apocalyptic film. Intentionally tattered clothes, dirty faces and wild greasy hair, gloves with no fingers and a mess of equipment they either didn’t know how to wear properly, or didn’t care to. Their leader was even wearing a pile of gold necklaces and rhinestone studded bling that made him look like the bad guy from the movie
300
. His pants were brand new, highly visible Army ACU trousers with police body armor lazily put together on top. The man was the tallest by at least six inches, tattoos all the way up his dark neck to a set of wild looking eyes that never left Ethan’s. This man had served time, no one looks at cops like that but ex cons.

             
“My name is Sheriff Ethan Cally. How are you folks today?” Ethan said loud and clear.

             
“That depends.” The large black man said. “On what you got to make my day better.”

             
“What do you want?” Ethan asked.

             
“I asked you.”

             
“How does an entire backpack of fresh medical supplies sound?” Keith said. It was kind of like putting all your chips in on the first hand, but they had other stuff to sweeten the pot with if needed.

             
Someone from the group limped up to the leader and whispered something. Ethan could see a dirty bandage around the man’s calve. It was likely Keith would leave the supplies with them no matter the outcome just because he was a humanitarian. How long before that man’s leg became septic? Would his leader even care?

             
“Two bags. Some guns, and food.” The man said.

             
Ethan considered. “No guns.”

             
There was a moment of silence. “Where are you people from? Is there a government again?”

             
Ethan didn’t answer either, “Food and medical supplies? Let me go talk to our commander and see if the price is right. As a show of good faith, could you start to remove the cars from our path? We’ll leave this bag here with you right now so you can see what’s in it. We also have an extra supply of vodka, if anyone’s interested?” The man nodded. He probably wanted to ask about hard drugs, but considering he was talking to a Sheriff and a Soldier he thought better of it.

             
Ethan began walking backwards with Keith until his foot caught on a rock and he stumbled, forcing him to turn forward. Keith caught him before he fell. As he said thank you an echoing crack and a thunderous smacking sound sent both men sprawling to the pavement. Ethan hit his head on an abandoned car and rolled over just in time to stick his hand in a puddle of bright red blood. There were several more shots fired, some impacting the car Ethan was next to as he tried to figure out where the blood was coming from. Was it his? He didn’t feel any pain besides his head. This was too much too fast, who was shooting? Why were they shooting? Who’s blood was this!? No. Not this. Not him. The blood was Keith’s. A gurgling wound gushed blood from his chest as he struggled to breath. Grabbing his sidearm, Ethan opened fire on the gang, and even from a distance he managed to hit someone, the .45 round likely shattering their hip as they dropped satisfactorily to the street in a spurt of red arterial spray and a bloody cry.

             
Reaching his arms under Keith’s shoulders Ethan started dragging his best friend behind the abandoned vehicles, slipping on the blood as Lee’s Cavalry opened up on the gang with machine guns and automatic rifle fire Ethan couldn’t believe he was summoning the strength to drag Keith to safety. Soldiers shouted commands as the convoy’s up-armored Humvees rolled forward to attack with infantry running alongside.

             
Ethan ripped Keith’s shirt off as soon as they were behind a car and had a Soldier apply pressure while he dug through a new medical bag for what he needed. Needles with the proper one way valve on the catheter, tape, and a hard piece of plastic that had been pre-cut to block off a sucking chest wound. After taping off the plastic on both sides Ethan fixed the valve, a hissing sound marked when Keith was breathing again, although he was in extraordinary pain he seemed calmer. Normally, had the world not ended, this would have been when someone in the unit started a 9-Line Medevac request and moved Keith to an open field for the chopper to land in. Somewhere at a nearby hospital a helicopter would be taking off, police and fire rescue would be responding and Keith would be only minutes from professional, well equipped aid. The bird would have been able to land in a clearing on the other side of the bridge and paramedics would be able to save Keith’s life.

             
Ethan shouted furiously at anyone he could see, he didn’t know if he was making any sense. The dressing he had on Keith wasn’t holding, the blood loosening the tape that held the dressing down. Even if an EMS were available there may have been nothing they could do. There was, of course, no telling this to Ethan, who reapplied dressing after dressing until finally Keith had had enough. He reached out with his last bit of strength and pushed Ethan’s hands away. Their eyes met and Ethan wasn’t afraid his friend would die. He
knew
his friend would die. The acceptance of the inevitability of death was creeping up on him. Keith whispered, “Tell Paula… Tell Paula…” There wasn’t enough air in his lungs to finish the sentence, his cyan colored lips doing what his lungs could not.

             
“…That you love her. Yes. I will.” Ethan nodded, his vision so blurred by tears he could no longer clearly make out his friend’s scraggly red stubble from the oozing blood. Keith nodded that Ethan had it right. He coughed harder than before, the valve on the bandaged wheezed one last time and Keith stopped breathing at the same time his heart quit. There wasn’t enough left of his chest to do compressions, not enough blood left in his body to circulate the oxygen.

             
“NO! NO NO NO!” Ethan shouted. He leaned Keith’s head back and started blowing air into shredded lungs. Starting chest compressions despite the rib cage being in splinters, Ethan ripped the O2 mask off Keith and to blow more air between counting. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…” Nothing. He repeated the process and repeated and repeated even after the guns had stopped and no one was screaming anymore he repeated, “…thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Breath.” Repeat. Count to 15, blow air. Look. Listen. Push. Count to 15. Blow air. Look listen. Push. Rinse. Repeat. Repeat…

Lucky
13

“Hard times don’t last forever. Hard people do.”

~Drill Sergeant Young, C-795, MP Bat.

              1st Cavalry Company slaughtered the roadside gang at Mt. Sterling. There were no noncombatants there, they didn’t seem keep children around, God knows what they did with them. As soon as Captain Brewer had taken the buckshot to the back, the notion of taking prisoners hadn’t even been considered. Revenge was still no consolation to anyone. A revered man, not only in the Cavalry, but amongst the People as well, Keith Brewer was one of the pivotal forces in the world as they knew it. His loss couldn’t be understated. Neither could the gang’s punishment.

             
Ethan had to be dragged off of Keith’s body, no easy task as covered in blood as he was. Ethan had immediately gone into shock, fighting with the Soldiers as they rushed to help. It took Lee slapping his brother in the face to get the man to calm down enough to listen to reason. After unceremoniously shoving the gang’s bodies off the side of the road, and pushing every roadblock into the river as well, the convoy left having gained nothing and having lost so much. As hypocritical as it was, had the gang shot a regular Cavalryman maybe some of them might have been spared according to the rules of war, but shooting a Medic with a large Red Cross patch on his shoulder had signed their death warrants with the pull of a trigger. This time it hadn’t been a misunderstanding. Or had it? Why did they do that? They were all old enough to remember the world that was, how could they have mistaken Keith for anyone but a friend? What, in all seriousness, had the gang expected to happen to them?

             
The rest of the trip Ethan and Lee wouldn’t leave Keith’s side. No one else was allowed to touch him with Ethan standing guard, pistol in hand, eyes wide and unblinking. They pulled into the truck stop motor pool hours later, an ambulance and the families of many of the soldiers standing in wait as the wind picked up before a much needed rainstorm. The men dismounted in total silence. Zombies had killed more men, women, and children, even after the formation of the township, than anyone cared to count. More than three quarters of the world’s population had been wiped out, everyone knew someone who wasn’t coming back, but somehow this tragedy seemed much worse than any other. Captain Keith Daniel Brewer was a God Loving Man, a Humanist, an Officer, and a Gentleman. Most importantly, he was a Father. There weren’t many of those left.

             
Lee jumped off the truck and lowered the tailgate himself. The foot of the stretcher appeared and several EMT’s hauled the body down, Ethan finally willed himself to let go of his grip on Keith’s hand, but only just barely. He didn’t make any effort to leave the back of the truck. Not yet. Ethan could already hear Paula screaming and Serenity crying even though she was too small to understand why. There were shouts and the sirens of the ambulance wailing as it took off towards the hospital. Futile effort, sure. Keith had been gone for some time. It was still their job.

             
Ethan had no idea how long he was sitting in the back of the 5 ton before someone came for him. Hours maybe. Could even have been days, he would never have noticed. All he could think about was that day on I-44, the ash falling as Keith staggered away from one slaughter only to walk into another barely more than two years later. He should have been safe at home, free from all danger. After so long staring at the dried blood, dull now that it dried and cracked on the toes of his boots, Ethan had the presence of mind to look up. Mary was sitting on the bench opposite him. It was raining outside. Her face had paled, an expression covered in sorrow not only for her husband’s loss, but for Paula and Serenity and the child Paula carried still. Ethan’s loss could never equal Paula’s.

             
Mary reached out and embraced her husband. They didn’t speak, she just held him as the emotional barriers melted away. The horror of the day caught up with him and Ethan completely lost it. He cried so hard he ran out of tears and couldn’t breathe. Survivor’s guilt had nearly taken him before, back when he didn’t have Mary or Samuel to bring light to his life. This time there was no survivor’s guilt. He was needed just as much as Keith, only now he had the duty to take care of both families. How could he live with himself if he did not?

             
“I… I have to find Paula.” He said, choking back how badly he wanted to vomit. Good thing he hadn’t eaten recently, Ethan decided as he dry heaved a little before climbing out of the truck. There were a few Soldiers loitering off to one side, a hose and cleaning gear at their feet, waited to clean the blood out of the truck bed. Ethan stopped and stared at them for a moment that lasted an eternity. They stared back, knowing who they were about to scrape off the floor, their sympathy written across solemn faces. The respect they showed moved Ethan, and with all the courage he could muster he turned and walked away from the truck.