ASHES
Mike Ramon
© 2012 Miguel Ramon
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Ash lay on the ground like muddy snow. The bone-white light of a late-autumn moon caressed the gentle slopes of the hills beyond the road like a thin sheen of milk spilled over the Earth. A chill wind soughed through the gutters, an eerie moaning that made the hairs rise up on the back of Jack’s neck. He let go of the curtain, allowing it to fall back into place and making the world outside disappear. Now all that was real in the world was the room he was standing in, and the people in it. Gary launched into another coughing fit from his spot on the floor by the fireplace; it sounded like loose change rattling around in a plastic cup. Sophie put a hand on his forehead and looked up at Jack with worry in her eyes. She didn’t need to say anything for him to get the message: Gary was burning up.
Ben sat in the farthest corner of the room, as far away from his ailing father as he could. The boy’s eyes were wide, making him look just like the scared eight-year-old boy that he was. Jack thought about taking a seat next to the boy, about putting a hand on his shoulder and saying a few comforting words about how it wasn’t as bad as it looked, and that his father would be fine. He then decided against it; what was the point of telling the kid a lie? They all knew that Gary was deteriorating fast. Maybe if it was still like the old days, if they could take him to a hospital, to a doctor, get him some medicine…but the world which held those possibilities was gone now. The end of that world had come with neither a whimper nor a bang, but with a long, drawn-out sigh.
Instead he walked over near the fireplace and hunkered down on his haunches, holding out his hands to the licking flames like a sacrificial offering. Warmth spread through his hands and across his face; it felt wonderful. Sophie grabbed hold of Gary and started to move him.
“What are you doing?” Jack asked.
“I’m moving him away from the fire.”
“No, leave him where he is.”
“But Jack, he’s hot.”
“I know, but don’t move him. You know better, Sophie; if you move him away from the heat he’ll be freezing in a matter of minutes, and then you’ll have to drag him back. We’ve seen it before. Leave him where he is and use the cloth.”
Sophie grabbed a piece of cloth up off of the floor and dunked it into the bowl of water set near her and then held the wet rag to Gary’s head, letting streams of water run down the man’s face. It had a strange effect, making it look almost like he was crying in his sleep. He stirred a bit and mumbled something unintelligible then. In the corner Ben wiped away a few tears that had fallen silently, without as much as a sniffle.
The wind outside the shack picked up speed and whistled through cracks in the walls. Sophie set the damp rag aside and stared up at the ceiling with a look of apprehension on her face, as if expecting the roof to rip free of its moorings and sail away into the night. The wind died down a bit, and Sophie’s eyes returned to the sick man on the floor.
There was a noise outside, and at first nobody paid it any mind, taking it for another trick of the wind. Then the noise grew louder and Jack realized that it was the sound of someone treading up the porch steps. He looked over at Sophie, who returned his gaze for just a moment before turning to the boy in the corner.
“Ben, come to me,” she beckoned.
Ben crawled over to her, and she draped her arms over him protectively. Jack stood up and walked quickly and quietly to where the rifle was leaning against the wall. He lifted it up and aimed it at the door, breathing slowly and shallowly. There was a scraping sound as something made contact with the door, and then a soft tapping. Jack stood silent, his attention focused like a beam on the door and whatever might come through it. Both Sophie and Ben remained quiet as well, but Gary began to stir into semi-consciousness. He reached out with one hand at nothing in particular, and his lips began to move wordlessly, a thin trail of spittle running down from one corner of his mouth. Sophie leaned down so that her mouth was near one ear.
“You must be quiet,” she whispered. “Someone’s outside.”
“Mmph,” was his response.
Jack’s eyes were still on the door, the only entrance into the shack. His finger held a tight grip on the trigger; realizing this, he lightened the grip just slightly. There came a knock at the door.
“We don’t want any trouble,” Jack called out. “We’re armed. Just leave us be.”
A heavy silence slithered about the room, touching everything and settling over all, so that the only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the distant ocean sound of blood rushing in Jack’s ears. The silence felt like a tenuous truce between those inside the shack and whatever lay without. Then a deep voice broke that truce.
“I don’t mean to be a bother,” the voice assured them, “but this is my home.”
Jack looked at Sophie for a moment, hoping to get from her some idea about what he was supposed to do next. He found nothing but frightened eyes staring at him almost vacantly.
“We didn’t know this place was being used,” Jack said. “We just needed a place to spend the night. One of our people is sick, and we need to get him out of the cold for the night. We’ll be gone in the morning.”
“Very well,” the voice responded. “In the meantime, where do you expect me to go?”
“I…I don’t know. Just leave us be for the night. You have my word that we won’t take anything of yours.”
“Of course; there’s nothing to take. But I still need to come in out of the cold. I have some food; I’ll share it with you”
At the mention of food Jack’s mouth began to water. He licked his dry, cracked lips.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t come in,” he said.
There was another silence as the man to whom that deep voice belonged contemplated what to do.
“Listen,” the deep voice said. “I have a rifle, but it’s slung over my shoulder. I mean no harm to you or yours. I’m coming in now.”
Before Jack could respond the door swung open fast and slammed against the wall. Sophie and Ben cried out in fright, and Jack squeezed the trigger within a hairs breadth of firing.
“Sorry about that,” the tall, bearded man standing on the porch said. “The wind and all, you know?”
The man stepped into the room and stomped his feet, dislodging caked up ash from his rubber boots. Over one shoulder was slung the rifle he’d spoken of, and over the other was slung a large sack. The bottom of the sack was wet, dripping a dark, viscous fluid onto the floor. The man unslung the sack and dropped it on the floor; it landed with a sickly thudding sound.
“The name’s Fredrik,” the man announced. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Fredrik’s gaze moved through the room, settling for a moment on everyone in turn, and finally stopping on the prone, sweating form of the sick man.
“Is he okay?”
Nobody answered the question; it was quite evident that Gary was not okay. Fredrik gave up waiting for a reply and turned back to shut the door. Jack kept his rifle aimed at the big man.
“I’m going to unsling my rifle,” Fredrik said to him.” Is that all right with you?”
“Yeah, sure. Just do it slowly.”
Fredrik took off the rifle and leaned it up against the wall near the door.
“So, what are your names?” he asked as he turned back to the room at large.
“Jack. Over there, that’s Sophie and Ben. The sick one is Gary; he’s Ben’s
father.”
“Do you know what’s wrong with him?”
“What everybody gets eventually,” Sophie responded. “Ash Sickness. He started coughing about three days ago.”
“Hmm. Sorry to hear it.”
Fredrik picked up the sack and started toward where Sophie and Ben were kneeling near the prostrate Gary.
“Don’t go near them!” Jack warned.
Fredrik stopped in his tracks, holding up the hand that was not gripping the sack in a gesture of peace.
“Listen, fella, like I told you--this is my home. I appreciate that you’re trying to take care of your people, but I don’t like it when a guest holds me at gunpoint. Could you point that rifle somewhere else and let me do what I have to do?”
“What is it exactly that you’ve gotta do?” Jack asked, the rifle still pointed at Fredrik.
“I’ve got me a fawn,” Fredrik replied, holding up the bloody sack. “You know, a young deer? I’d like to cook it. Like I said before, you’re all welcome to share. First you have to put the rifle aside. Deal?”
Jack thought about it for a moment before relenting. He lowered the rifle and set it up against the wall. Fredrik smiled, revealing mossy green teeth.
“That’s more like it,” Fredrik said.
Jack kept a wary eye on the man as he took the fawn out of the sack--it had already been skinned and gutted. Next Fredrik reached in and retrieved the hide from the bag, setting it aside. From a sheath hidden within the folds of his thick coat the man produced a large, wicked-looking knife, which he used to carve up pieces of the fawn. He grabbed up a few metal rods lying on the floor near the fireplace, piercing one of them through a hunk of flesh. He held out the skewer to Jack.
“Just like roasting marshmallows,” Fredrik said with a grin.
Jack took the proffered meat and held it near the flickering fire. Fredrik did the same with another skewered piece of meat. As the meat began to cook, with juices dripping down into the flames, a thick aroma filled the room, causing mouths to water. Ben and Sophie eyed the searing flesh hungrily. Jack took care to rotate the skewer regularly, making sure not to burn one side while leaving the rest uncooked.
When he was satisfied that the meat was sufficiently cooked, Jack pulled it away from the flames and tore off a piece. It was hot, burning his fingers, but he blew on it a bit and popped it into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed, and the taste of the flesh and grease was exquisite. He held the skewer out to Ben.
“Here, this is for you,” he told the boy. “It’s good.”
Ben reached up and slid the meat free of the metal skewer, muttering something that might have been thanks. Fredrik offered the other skewer to Sophie, who accepted the food with a grateful smile.
“Thank you so much,” she said.
Fredrik and Jack skewered two more hunks of meat and cooked them. While he ate Jack kept one eye on Gary, who was no longer drenched with sweat, but now looked inhumanly pale in his dreamless slumber. He caught Sophie’s eye and saw that she understood as well as he did that Gary’s suffering was almost done. The hours passed, and one by one they all drifted off to sleep, contented in a way that only those with a full belly had any right to be.
When Jack awoke in the morning he found that the fire had died out sometime during the night, and the room had grown chilly. He looked over at the slumbering forms of the others, then stood and walked over to the window near the front door. He pushed the curtain aside and looked out at the gunmetal gray morning. A light fog hugged the ground. He let the curtain fall back into place and turned back to the room. He went to check on Gary, leaning down next to the man and moving aside the blanket that Fredrik had given them to cover him with. Gary no longer simply looked pale, but a sickly gray color with a slight blue tint. When Jack touched the man’s cheek with the back of one hand he knew that it was finally over.
By the time the others woke up Jack had already dragged Gary’s cold body outside. After filling the other adults in on the situation, Jack led Ben outside and around to the back of the shack, where he had left Gary. He gave the boy some space and let him cry a little; then he sent Ben back inside and Fredrik joined Jack. They took turns digging a hole with an entrenching tool that Fredrik produced. When the whole was deep enough they rolled Gary into it and covered his body with dirt.
Tired and cold, they were grateful for the warmth of the fire that Sophie had got going in their absence. They cooked what was left of the fawn and ate a hearty lunch, washing it all down with water from a jug that Fredrik promised had been boiled.
Late afternoon. Jack and Sophie waited while Ben went around back to say one last goodbye to the mound of earth where his father lay.
“Where will you go?” Fredrik asked while they waited.
“West,” Jack answered.
“Why west?”
“Why not west?”
“You’re free to stay here, you know.”
“No, it’s better to keep moving,” Jack said, shaking his head. “Thanks for the offer, though.”
The boy rejoined them and the threesome set off. Fredrik stood watching them as they walked on. Ben kept glancing back at the man who had given them shelter and food, if only for one night. Fredrik got smaller, was farther away every time he looked back. Finally he couldn’t see him at all.