Ash & Flame: Season One
Read Ash & Flame: Season One Online
Authors: Wilson Geiger
ASH
&
FLAME
SEASON ONE
WILSON GEIGER
ASH & FLAME: SEASON ONE
Ash & Flame is copyright © 2015 by Wilson Geiger. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written consent of the publisher except for the use of brief quotes in a book review.
Published by Wilson Geiger
Created in the United States of America
Editor: Carolyn Abram and the 7th Titan Staff
Cover Design: Derek Murphy @creativindie
For Dad, who didn’t seem to mind too much when his fantasy books started disappearing. And to Mom, who taught me to enjoy reading at a very young age. I know you’re not always very fond of the types of stories I write, but just remember:
It’s all Dad’s fault.
EPISODE ONE
Exhaustion crept up on Ren like a predator, striking so quickly that the ache in his legs took him by surprise. It shouldn't have. He'd been running for hours. No, not hours, but days, months, years. Forever, an eternity where his legs had no choice but to move, one step after another.
He'd heard of a safe haven down here, but still nothing. Anymore it was almost a dream, finding someplace that wasn't broken or burnt down.
Haven
. His mind tickled at the word, weariness fraying at the edges. Wasn't that what the rumors had named it?
The weight in his arms shifted, sighed. Slight arms tightened around his neck. "Dad, can we stop now?"
"Almost, baby doll."
Ren took a step. Then another, each step kicking up a small cloud of dust and ash. His eyelids closed, and he forced them open again. The sun fell below the trees, casting the day's final light in a reddish haze that lingered over the horizon. Powder fell from the sky, reminding him of the winters up north in Minnesota. He used to love the snow and the harsh, biting cold.
But this wasn't snow. He wasn't sure he'd ever see snow again.
Small hands squeezed his shoulders. "Dad, you're gonna drop me."
Two years ago Emma would have been too old to carry. Two years ago she would have had a comfortable bed to sleep in, and she wouldn't scream herself awake every morning after another nightmare.
"Okay, Em," Ren whispered. He ran his fingers through her hair, and gently pulled up her hood. "Just about there."
He stepped out of the woods and paused when his boots crunched against concrete, the grinding sound loud in his ears. He swallowed the lump in his throat, his heart pounding.
He stood in the open, trees behind him, a narrow road running through a cluster of mobile homes draped in shadow. Fake plants hung in windows. Chairs sat on front porches under makeshift awnings. A plastic sunflower stuck in the ground, one of its leaves charred, and it threatened to spin in the slight breeze. In one lot a Mustang sat on blocks, clumps of ash obscuring the green racing stripe that ran down the hood.
The place looked normal, almost serene. If Ren didn't look closely enough, he could almost believe this was a regular Tuesday night. A trailer park full of ghosts he could only guess at. He could picture a guy named Joe in his chair, enjoying a beer while the sun fell. Keith underneath his Mustang, the sound of clicking ratchets mixing with his muffled curses. Norma in her kitchen, yelling out the window for the kids to get inside. Helen going over to her neighbor’s, the sweet aroma of chocolate brownies wafting in the air.
But this place wasn't normal. Nothing was.
Normal
wasn't a word he could use anymore, not for anything.
If he looked,
really
looked, the stark reality here would smack him in the face.
The windows on the nearest mobile home were all missing or shattered, jagged edges glinting in the fading light. Camp chairs had been tossed into yards, the canvas strips torn. A skull sat perched on an antenna dangling from a roof, a crooked metal rod piercing an eye socket.
He couldn't look at his daughter, or in a mirror, and not see the truth. It was everywhere, stretching his sanity. Tugging at his little girl like the claws of some hidden monster.
Exhaustion had claimed the last of his ebbing strength, though, so this place would have to do. He had to sleep, if only just a few hours.
Emma needed the sleep much more, even after Ren had carried her for the last couple of hours. Her ten-year-old body could only handle so much.
He scanned the abandoned homes again, searching for the one in the worst condition. He'd learned from hard-earned experience that the nicer places, those that hadn't been looted or razed, they were never the safe ones to stay in. If it looked safe, it wasn't.
Not that there were many of those places left.
Nice
was a buzzword, a word that no longer meant much of anything. Like
good morning
, or
be safe
. Who could say good morning with a straight face anymore?
"Dad..."
Emma yawned, and Ren felt his grip start to slip under her weight. The muscles in his lower back twitched, and he wondered how much longer before his back gave out on him. He grimaced and lifted her up, shifting his arms underneath her.
Just pick a spot, idiot
, he thought.
Before you do drop her
.
He limped towards a mobile home near the back of the park. The windows had been busted out long ago, two empty frames like hollow eyes that drew a chill down Ren's spine. A fire had raked across the cheap siding, leaving behind a charred, melted residue that reminded him of a black wax candle. The door hung off the top hinge, the wood splintered. Someone had spray painted in a glaring red the words FUCK US ALL beside the front door.
Good enough.
Ren walked up the three steps leading to the narrow porch, and he tried to ignore the cringing sense of doom within each step. He didn't look up at the skull mounted on the roof, afraid that the leering face might tell him something he didn't want to hear.
No sense in looking the truth right in the eye.
Pausing at the door, he sniffed, relieved that he only caught the stink of trash and mold in the air. They could handle the rank smell of refuse for a few hours.
He glanced left and right and mouthed a silent prayer. He held his breath and pushed his way into the dark mobile home, ducking under the doorway so Emma's head wouldn't smack against the frame.
"We're here, baby doll."
Here
didn't appear to be much at first glance. He stood in what might once have been a comfy living room, a ragged couch leaning to one side a few feet in front of him. Stained cushions had been thrown against the near wall, the cloth torn, flecks of foam littering the floor. Trash bags lay propped on one another, stacked in the far corner. An overturned chair lay next to a small TV stand, the equally small TV dashed against the floor. Graffiti covered the wall in what Ren hoped was red paint.
To their right a hallway, cloaked in shadow, ended at a closed door. He guessed it was probably a bedroom, but the closed door made him nervous.
To the left of the trashed living room another short hall ran to an open doorway, faint light catching on the linoleum floor. Ren frowned at the buzzing sound emanating through the doorway.
He let out a muffled groan as he lowered Emma until her feet touched the floor. He held her hand, his other hand rubbing his back. What he wouldn't give for some Tylenol.
Emma pushed back her hood and watched the ash fall to the floor. She yawned again and peered up at Ren, her eyes red and puffy. "We gonna sleep here?"
"Yeah, I think so," Ren whispered. "But we better check it out and make sure, right?"
"Yeah." Emma smiled, nodding as she took in her surroundings. "I think we're pretty out of luck finding a pool, though."
"Alright then, smartass, let's have us a look."
The kitchen smelled about as Ren expected. As soon as they walked through the narrow doorway of the small kitchenette, Emma squeezed her nose with the tips of her fingers.
"Don't puke," she whispered. "Don't puke..."
Ren swallowed hard and fought the urge to gag as he scanned the kitchen. A wooden bowl sat on the island counter, the oranges in the bowl a sickly bluish-green. A loaf of bread lay on the counter, the plastic wrap torn open. Mold covered the half-eaten loaf, the bread shriveled and hard. A tall trash can had spilled its contents in the far corner. Flies spun in lazy circles, buzzing over the rotten food and refuse.
The stench wafting from the fridge was more than enough warning. Ren left it alone.
"Okay, next," he said, motioning towards the doorway.
He held Emma's hand as they passed through the living room and headed down the opposite hallway. The dark hall branched off to the left, and Ren paused there. He looked over his shoulder at Emma and held a finger to his lips, waiting until his daughter mimicked the action.
Ren steadied himself with a hand on the wall and peeked past the corner. He blinked and waited a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
What I wouldn't give for a flashlight right now
. No, that wasn't true. He'd be too afraid to use it.
He took another step forward and caught the faint white of ceramic. Shapes revealed themselves: the oval circle of the toilet, the smudged patterns of a half-pulled shower curtain. He ducked past the curtain to make sure the shower was empty and let out a low, relieved sigh. He turned to flick Emma a thumbs-up.
He froze where he stood, his upturned thumb closing around his fingers into a fist.
Emma stood at the closed door, her head turned to one side. She leaned forward, her ear pressed to the stained wood, like she was listening for something. Her hand reached for the door, her fingers hovering just over the brass knob.
Shitshitshit
.
With a start, Ren realized he'd stopped breathing. He rushed towards Emma, but it was too late. His heart jumped as she twisted the knob and the door creaked open.
He stepped in front of her before she could step through the doorway. He willed his heart to stop its pounding against his chest. He held a hand out to shield Emma behind him and poked his head into the room.
It had once been a bedroom. A large queen-sized bed dominated the room, the headboard right under a shattered pair of windows that revealed the encroaching darkness of night. The shredded tatters of a white blanket draped off the bed onto the garish thick carpet.
Dark stains trailed behind something lying still on the mattress. Ren took a careful step into the room and leaned forward.
An animal. A cat, maybe a groundhog. He couldn't tell which, and it didn't matter. It was dead, its gray fur matted, a dark patch on its side. Ren didn't need to look any closer.
"I thought I heard something," Emma said. She peeked out from behind Ren, tilted her head as she stared into the darkened bedroom. "You didn't hear anything?"
No psychotic, deranged cannibals. No demons waiting inside for delectable human playthings. Nothing but a dead, desiccated cat. Ren stepped back and swung the door closed. "No, Em. Didn't hear a thing."
But just in case, Ren decided they'd sleep in the living room.
He let Emma take the cushions. He'd situated them next to each other, against the wall, and now he watched Emma as she started to fade. He sat on the edge of the couch, going through their bag again. Frustrated that the count came up the same each time. Enough for another couple days, maybe three if he skipped a day. Maybe if he only had a little at a time, he could stretch it out—