Keary Taylor: The Ashes

“I don’t think so,” Scarface’s eyes harden. “Now hand it over or I’ll make a crater in your chest.”

“No deal,” I say.

And I don’t wait for him to react. I drop my shoulder and run at him full speed. I knock him flat on his back, swinging my elbow up as he goes down to connect with his jaw.

I turn toward Gimpy and duck as he pulls the trigger. The shot grazes my left arm, splitting the skin open but not causing major damage. I ram into him and knock him to the ground as well. I grab his shotgun before either of them can recover and fling it far off the road.

Leveling my handgun on Scarface since he seems to be the one in charge, I tug my other gun from the side pocket of the pack. Gimpy gets a good view of the inside of the barrel next.

“I’m going to let you get up, get back in your truck, and drive back the way you came,” I say, my voice quiet. My insides are quivering from fatigue. Whatever sickness that has been burning me from the inside isn’t ready to let me go just yet.

They look at each other, uncertain of what to do.

“I’m going to say this again,” I growl. “Get up, get back in the truck, and go back the way you came.”

They share another look, then slowly start to get to their feet. They raise their hands, and both take a step away from me.

And then their eyes flicker toward each other once more. With a loud yell, they both rush at me.

I fire two shots and one takes Gimpy to the ground. Scarface knocks me to the road.

With the pack on my back it’s difficult to maneuver. Scarface locks a hand around my throat and lands a blow with his right fist to my cheekbone.

I jerk a knee up between his legs and he hunches over at the same time I connect my forehead with the bridge of his nose. I flip over, pinning him down and landing one blow to his eye to return the favor.

Grabbing my fallen handgun from the pavement, I place the barrel right between his eyes.

“This one really is loaded,” I say, trying to steady my breathing. “And I’ll shoot you if you try something like that again. So you’re going to get your bleeding friend over there and leave. Now.”

I can’t tell if the guy looks afraid or mad. His eyes are five different kinds of crazy. But he gives the smallest of nods.

Slowly, I shift off of him and we both get to our feet. He walks over to Gimpy, who’s cradling a bleeding shoulder. Scarface looks back at me once again. I nod, and they slowly make their way back to the truck.

Scarface gets Gimpy into the passenger seat and walks around to the other side. He opens the door and looks back toward me.

“I ever see you again, you’re a dead man,” he says with venom in his voice.

“Trust me, I don’t plan on ever seeing you again,” I reply, giving a flicking motion with the gun in my right hand, indicating that it’s time for him to leave.

He climbs in the truck and flips around. A minute later I can’t see him anymore.

Calming my shaking breathing, I turn and start back down the road.

Everywhere seems the same. Cars are abandoned, beaten and trashed. Cities are to be avoided. People are best to be avoided too if possible.

I keep walking.

I check the map.

I move toward the green area.

There is something comfortable about the trees that surround me. They feel protective. At first I didn’t like feeling blinded by them, but now they feel almost as if they’re guarding me.

I’m not sure about much these days, but I’m pretty sure none of those robotic freaks are going to find me out here.

Setting my pack down on the mossy ground, I pull out my sharpest knife. I look at my reflection as I lean over the water. My hair hangs down well over my ears and my beard barely brushes my chest.

I don’t even recognize the man I’m seeing.

That isn’t the man that accidently got all those people killed. That isn’t the man who was sentenced to finish out the rest of his days behind bars. It isn’t the man who was so angry and violent behind bars that he got stuffed in the SHU to live out his life in isolation.

But that man is a man who has survived. That is a man that is still alive and still human. That is a man who has gotten the chance to rise out of the ashes to be reborn again.

I hack off as much of the hair on my head as I can. I look wild and beast-like. After soaking my head in the water, I take my blade to my scalp and carefully shave away every bit of hair. My skin doesn’t come out undamaged but I don’t look like a caveman anymore.

The beard is next.

It’s a relief to be rid of the excess hair. It itches when it gets hot and frequently makes it difficult to eat.

There’s shouting behind me, maybe one hundred yards away. My pulse instantly races. I strap the knife to my belt and pull out my shotgun. The pack is on my back and I’m moving through the woods a few seconds later.

It’s been weeks since I’ve seen anyone, bot or human. I have no problem with solitude, but I am curious. My instincts tell me I’m not going to run into any of those things out here so it must be other people.

They’ve taken care to hide themselves well. It took me at least two weeks just to hike into these mountains. I want to see who’s been as persistent as myself.

I can’t help every little noise my boots make as I close the distance between us, but I’m as quiet as possible. I can hear voices talking as I get closer. They seem relaxed. Comfortable. I wonder if I mistook laughter as shouting earlier. As I get closer I can hear them talking about what I assume is some kind of garden.

The idea interests me. A garden is something I would have never thought about.

I slip behind a tree and just listen.

“Tye and Hudson brought in the fencing this morning,” a younger-sounding voice says. “They said they’re settling down out there. They’re all going to sleep or something. Just standing around.”

“I don’t understand,” an older, gruffer voice says. “Are they dying out?”

The first voice pauses for a second as if they’re shaking their head. “I don’t think so. It’s like they’re going into hibernation. For how long, who knows?”

“I brought food,” a younger female voice suddenly says. “I shot it.”

“Well look at that,” the older one says. “That is a fine fox. He will be quite tasty for dinner tonight. Well done.”

I dare a glance around the tree. The only one I can see is a young girl. She’s maybe fourteen, but I’d guess she’s even younger. Probably thirteen. She’s got her hair pulled back tight and she’s holding a hunting rifle. It’s a bizarre sight to see one so young holding such a deadly weapon.

But the strangest thing about her is the look on her face. Her eyes are alert, attentive. But her expression is totally devoid. Like she isn’t feeling anything behind the mask. A kid that young shouldn’t look that hardened. What had she been through to get that expression?

“May I go back out? I’m pretty sure I saw a buck out there. I can get it,” she says.

There’s another hesitance, like the two men are looking at each other.

“I suppose,” the older man says. “Just be careful out there.”

The girl looks at what I assume is his face for a few moments and I can almost read the thoughts rolling behind her eyes. This isn’t a girl who considers being careful very often.

She turns and walks away.

Without the girl to focus on, I observe the rest of the surroundings. There are tents cropped together, seven of them. I see a fire smoldering off in the distance. I still can’t see the men who are standing behind one of the tents.