World of Ashes (35 page)

             
“That’ll be the day.” Ethan scoffed. “I got to reading through the old case files from Sullivan PD while I was pretending to be on patrol, and Miss Jenny Kopland it turns out, has a few priors for DUI and passing bad checks. She was also indicted for identity theft and had a pending charge for selling property that wasn’t hers. We
can
fight her.”

             
“Well, I don’t want our kid smoking pot.” Mary motioned for Ethan to sit back in his chair. “I don’t give a shit how harmless it is.”

             
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Ethan rolled his eyes.

             
“Shut up.” Mary swatted Ethan’s cover off his head. “I don’t even want to talk about this.” She wheeled Ethan back to the side-by-side and he managed to drag himself into the seat.

             
“You act like the whole subject upsets you.”

             
“It does.” Mary admitted as they drove towards the house in town they’d be moving into. They were still working on turning the plumbing back on, lots of pipes had frozen and burst, replacing them had been a real chore.

             
“Why?”

             
“Because my dad…” Mary took a deep breath, “Because my dad was an addict.”

             
“I thought you liked your parents? You do know Weed isn’t physically addictive, right? That’s just DARE and government prop-”

             
“Steve is…was… my stepfather. My real father was a monster. His poison was whiskey and heroine.” Mary took a deep breath. In her mind she could still smell the stale cigarettes left on the table for weeks, maybe months. The odor of spilled liquor and empty beer cans made her ill just to think about it. “The happiest day of my life was when Mom left him.”

             
“But this is us fixing the cycle of arrest and jail without rehabilitation.” Ethan knew better than to touch Mary right now. She’d probably stab him. “No one has to go to jail for-”

             
“Then why was that guy hanging from the Appletree sign? I heard about that too, ya know.”

             
Ethan thought about that for a moment. “Because it was lower than the McDonald’s sign?” Mary, much to her chagrin, shared Ethan’s demented sense of humor and stifled a laugh. She was trying to be mad at him. “Look, he was a meth cook and a murderer. I’m sorry, but I don’t have sympathy for people like that. Claiming weed is related to meth is the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard. It’s asinine and just another bit of bullshit and hypocrisy we no longer have to live with. I’m going to see to it that political correctness is balanced with common sense so help me God.”

             
“Why not just wipe it out all together?”

             
“And what, allow people to regress back to calling black folks niggers? Encouraging people to keep referring to Native Americans as Indians? Political Correctness has its place, but the rampant PC crap that strangled us for so long is done with in this town. We could have had that ‘Historic’ assclown out of office an entire term sooner if people were just willing to tell, or even accept the truth.” Ethan was ranting and tried to stop.

             
Mary allowed herself a small smile. “You and I are in for a long, long, loooooong life of butting heads, I can already see it.”

             
“Yeah, but I think that we’ll be here to keep each other honest.” The small all- terrain golf cart came to a stop in front of the sandstone and wood house, a design and material common in the Ozarks in the 1900’s. There was damage to both doors, and government issued police tape covered where the Army had gone in a “pacified” whomever had been inside. A few spots on the walls where bullet holes and brain matter were left untouched would have to be repaired. Kilz paint would also need to be applied all over. It had two stories and a staircase that could be removed and replaced with a ladder, and an upstairs bathroom in case they had to stay for the long haul. Ethan just had to hope no zombies showed up while Mary was too swollen to climb it in the later months. If things stayed safe like they were now he had little to fear, but that was never a guarantee. Worst case scenario he could take her to FOB Alamo.

             
“I miss your house already.” Mary said, staring up at the abandoned property.

             
“Me too.” Ethan took out a cane Mary had found for him and managed to hobble to the porch. Besides the bruises from being shot, the mob had beaten him pretty badly before Allen could drag him out of the line of fire. This new place and their new life couldn’t be taken for granted anymore. Life was as fragile and short, as if they were living in a parallel copy of their home town, only if they’d invented cars in the Middle Ages. However, unlike the Dark Ages there were far fewer smelly people and less sewage in the streets. A twinkle in his eye, Ethan limped over to Mary and pinched her butt. He wasn’t in the mood for any heavy thinking that might only lead him back to a worsened depression. “Wanna break in the new house?” He whispered in her ear.

             
“I thought you’d never ask.”

8

Four Months Later

              Summer never really came that year. The sky stayed overcast, but out of desperation many people planted anyhow, effectively wasting hundreds of pounds of seed. The cattle farmers had built new ranches out past the airfield, feeding their stock from hay scavenged from other farms. The scene at many industrial farms was horrific, Ethan had heard. They found as many barns filled with starved and dehydrated livestock as they did puppy mills filled with an even more inhumane sight. Anything that had ever needed constant human attention was waste now, forever lost to the ravages of the neglect and time. Ethan remembered the show
Life After People
, a pseudo-documentary that explained how the world would decay if humans were suddenly gone. The world outside of Sullivan was a much more detailed portrait of what the producers of the show must have been trying to convey.

             
The temperature by mid-May hadn’t climbed above seventy degrees more than twice. Steam could still be seen from the three stacks of the power plant, and smoke still rose into the skies over St. Louis, Jefferson City, and Columbia like great white trees that reached the toward heaven to shade the land below. Someone had commented at a town meeting that they thought gangs or splinter governments were deliberately setting those fires, trying to erase the cities once and for all. That theory was given about as much credence as the 9/11 Truthers, which was to say a small fringe population couldn’t be convinced the Old Government wasn’t still burning down the cities, and an even smaller but equally vocal element wanted to send an envoy to see if they could help finish the job. It was good to be able to identify who was a moron and who wasn’t before Ethan had to deal with them on an official call. “There’s just too much ash to be from the fires people set during the panic!” one woman had said. None of the Firefighters at the meeting had bothered to explain to the woman how a structure actually burns, or what materials in them burn and which ones don’t. There might not be any bright orange flames rising from the cities, but the undergrounds of a many cities had anything from subway systems to large sewers or even abandoned catacombs. Buildings that had been around since the turn of the century would smolder like a fire in a coal mine for years. If a city was larger enough, like Chicago, an unchecked fire would have a nearly inexhaustible fuel source.   

             
Ethan’s bruises were mostly healed now, but his right knee was never the same. Someone had stomped on it during the riot with the Old T’s, and running was excruciating now. He wore a knee brace all day now, but it did little more than hinder his movement and minimize a pain that would never go away. Mary was large enough now she couldn’t see her toes. Sex was awkward, but it’s not like they let an oversized belly stop them. Most days Mary stayed at the Provost Marshal’s Office that had been the Police Station, just trying to keep the town from descending into anarchy again while being surrounded by heavily armed good guys.

             
“Excuse me, Sheriff?” Ethan looked up from the horse drawn wagon he was helping a couple men push out of a ditch. It was an elderly man Ethan recognized from church as a child, but couldn’t put a name to the face. “Can I have a word with ya?” The man asked.

             
Ethan stepped back up on the road and cracked his neck from side to side, all his joints hurt these days. “Sure, Mr…?”

             
“My shipmates called me Cappy.” The man smiled, some teeth missing, but only from age, not neglect. Unlike most folks his breath didn’t even smell, usually the stench of neglect was overbearing. “But then they’re all dead now.” Cappy continued. “You can call me John.” Ethan stared at the man for a moment, waiting for him to continue. There was a chance John “Cappy” wasn’t all there in the head. “I was wondering if you knew anything about Lieutenant Newton. Has there been any word?”

             
“None all winter.” Ethan admitted. They’d searched literally every building in town, but Lee’s plan to search Stanton and the Caverns hadn’t happened. Raiding local areas for supplies was taking people, and by extension the Cavalry, farther South out of town every day. “I’m sorry sir. We’ve looked as best we could. He’s on the MIA list in town hall. If you ask me he probably just took a long walk, if you know what I mean.”

             
Cappy nodded and put a gruff hand on Ethan’s shoulder. He was sorry to admit his t-shirt was soaked with sweat and it couldn’t be pleasant to touch. It even made a squishing noise. “Have yeh been to the Caverns boy?”

             
“Yeah, a few times. You live in the area long enough you’ll eventually go.”

             
“Not too bright.” Cappy smiled and walked away.

             
Ethan’s brow furrowed. After giving the wagon another good push he bid the owners a good day and walked towards the Wal*Mart trading post. Someone had the idea to turn the store’s lights and air conditioners back on and the blast of cool air chilled Ethan as he walked through the automatic doors.

             
“Morning, Sheriff.” A genuine, old fashioned greeter said, standing a little straighter as Ethan walked in. Apparently former Wal*Mart “
Associates”
had decided to run the store, not knowing whether the corporation still existed or not, and not especially caring. Life wasn’t so rough that they could spend all day at home anymore and not lose their minds. Cabin fever had accounted for a number of domestic violence cases during the most uneventful winter on record. If most of the cases hadn’t involved guns or large knives Ethan might almost have welcomed the break in monotony to go on a call. Instead domestic interventions by police remained the most dangerous activity Ethan’s department took part in. Three Deputies were killed in one incident with a suicidal teenager at a group home, and another was accidentally stabbed at a bar while taking a theft report. The man who stabbed him was still in jail, public outcry over his family being left behind or thrown out with him had caused a recess in the trial. Apparently stabbing a deputy to death while shitfaced was somehow less heinous than what Mr. Cole had done, but then Ethan wasn’t even the officer assigned to present the evidence in court. He wouldn’t get a say, probably a good thing too.

             
“Morning, Mr. Lewis.” Ethan was about to walk past the greeter and head for the deli to get a sandwich but had a thought first. Mr. Lewis had probably lived in Sullivan since the 1930’s. He was almost a hundred years old and had been a greeter before the panic just to keep active and social. He’d know John “Cappy” if anyone did.

             
“Mr. Lewis, do you remember a man name John ‘Cappy’? I don’t know his last name. He’s about six inches shorter than me, white hair, huge nose…”

             
“Oh, yes… I know him.” Mr. Lewis smiled, his false teeth slightly off to one side, his giant rimmed glasses hadn’t been replaced since the 1980’s and made his eyes look like a cartoon. “Lives out in the boonies over yonder b’hind the Shell in Stanton… He used to be seen regular at the Western Pioneer Lounge till he couldn’t pay ‘es tab. Well, I guess he don’t live there no more, ya’ll won’t let no one out fer long.”

             
“We’re not trapping anyone.” Ethan was tired of this argument waiting to boil over, whispers of descent in corners and dark places all over town. People were getting tired of seeing the same faces over and over, the same buildings, the same drab gray concrete walls every day. “We just can’t afford to offer protection for everyone outside the gates.” Ethan tried to argue, “But you don’t remember anything else about this man? He was asking me about Lieutenant Newton, and as I’m sure you’ve read in the paper he’s still on the Missing list.”

             
“There were over six thousand people living here before the war.” Lewis laughed, “I can’t even count that high.” Ethan took the hint that Lewis knew who people were, but only that. Like a living telephone book, but not an encyclopedia.

             
“Thanks, Mr. Lewis.” Ethan made a quick salute, as Lewis was a veteran of the Korean War, rather than tipping his hat and went into the back to get his sandwich. Fresh meat wasn’t as hard to find as one might think. Stray farm animals simply wandered too close to town, seeking out any human who might feed them. The next problem was that the greens for the sandwich were getting sparse. “Uh, how about turkey on white.” Ethan said to the woman behind the counter.