David Dalglish - A Land of Ash

“What?” she snapped.

“There’s a question I’ll need to ask you,” he said, biting down on a fingernail. “But I won’t ask you it just yet. I like travelling with you, you understand?”

Gertrude didn’t, but she nodded anyway. It seemed like what he wanted, as well as the easiest way to get some shuteye. Just before she drifted off, she felt Alice pawing on her blankets, as if massaging her to sleep.

Gertrude startled awake come morning, jerking upward and letting out a soft cry. Samuel was already up, and his arms jolted, nearly dropping the bundle of wood he carried.

“Oh, morning,” she said, acting as if nothing were the matter. “Surprised to see you up. Old bones, I guess. Used to be I was up in my apartment before any of the other youngsters. Funny dreams. Funny times.”

“Morning,” Samuel said. “I thought to keep the fire going throughout the day. The wind picked up while you slept. Today will be a cold one.”

“Fire won’t do us no good,” Gertrude said as she tightened the scarf about her face and slowly disentangled herself from the blankets. “We can’t stay here to enjoy it. With you here, I don’t have enough food and water. That is, unless you brought your own.”

“I have very little,” Samuel admitted.

“Thought so,” she said. “Now put your back to the car and keep your eyes to yourself. I need to pass water, and I won’t have a funny-fuddy watching me go.”

Samuel did as he was told, slowly shaking his head as she left. When he heard her footsteps, he turned back around. He held up a can of spam, the top popped open.

“Thought some hot breakfast might do us both good,” he said.

“Thoughtful,” she said. “You made sure it ain’t spoiled, right?”

“Spam don’t spoil,” he replied.

Gertrude thought it did, but she decided not to argue. The top still on, Samuel tossed the spam into the middle of the fire for it to cook. He found another can of Spaghettios and tossed it in as well. Gertrude retrieved two bottles of water. She handed one to Samuel, and opened the other. Grabbing a small tin from within her pack, she set it on the ground and poured a bit of the water into it. Alice poked her head out from the pack, meowed, and then went over for a drink.

“Good girl,” Gertrude said as she leaned back and watched. Samuel raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing.

At Samuel’s insistence, they mixed the contents of the spam and Spaghettios together, adding a bit of flavor to each. It almost felt like cooking, something Gertrude ached to do again. Nothing made her feel alive like being amid a mess of flour, salt, tomatoes, and pasta. Reading a recipe correctly was an art, and she considered herself devoted to the craft.

“So what do you miss?” she asked Samuel as they ate.

“What?” he asked.

“Miss. Since this mess started. Anything you miss in particular?”

Samuel took a big bite from the can, using a spoon of his own he’d pulled out of his pocket. He chewed on it, both the question and the spoonful.

“Toilet paper,” he said.

“You trying to make me blush?” Gertrude said, slapping his shoulder and laughing. “Good heavens, that’s what you miss? I’d love to bake a nice lasagna and share it with my choir. I wish I could watch my soaps again, see those handsome men fighting with each other over gals I could only dream of being as pretty as. But you? Toilet paper. Your mind is in the gutter, mister.”

“Just the practical,” Samuel said. “Always have.”

“A dull way to live.”

He gave her a strange look at that, as if he were aware of a great secret that hung right before her nose. She bit her lips, swallowed one more spoonful of spamghettios, as Samuel called them, and then set the can down.

“Between the two of us, we can carry most of what’s left,” she said.

“I say we wait,” Samuel said. “A storm is coming, a real one. Can’t you feel it in the air?”

Gertrude rubbed her bony knuckles. Her arthritis was flaring like the devil, but it could mean plenty of things besides a storm. But the air had an energy to it, and the wind blew cold and full of promise.

“I haven’t seen rain since the ash,” she said. “Was starting to think it couldn’t happen.”

“Might not still,” Samuel said. “But should it hit, I’m thinking it’d be best if we had shelter.”

He nodded at the car. Gertrude glanced around to look at it, then shrugged.

“By golly, I guess we can use that when it comes down to it.” She reached into her pack and stroked Alice on the head. “You won’t mind being in there, will you, Alice? In where it’ll stay nice and dry?”

Samuel hid his laugh with a cough.

The storm came on sudden and strong. Gertrude sat in the front passenger seat, her pack on her lap. Samuel sat in the back. Just before the winds picked up, he’d cleaned the windows, saying he was determined to watch.

The sky darkened, the light fading as if they were in the center of an eclipse. The wind beat against the car, howling as it slipped through unseen holes and gaps in the metal.

“Wonder how bad it’ll be?” Samuel asked, his fingers against the glass.

“I could do with some rain,” Gertrude said, removing her scarf and letting Alice out of her pack. The cat hopped into the driver’s seat and lay down, cleaning her paws. The old lady put her hands underneath her armpits and frowned at the west.

“I don’t like this storm that’s coming,” she said. “I feel ill. This ain’t fun, Samuel. My heart’s saying we might go the way of Dorothy and Toto when it hits.”

The top layer of ash blew with the wind, but underneath remained still, hardened together as it had cooled over the past week. It made the world look sick, as if the storm had picked a scab off the land, revealing the ugliness underneath. Gertrude wondered how many bodies might have suddenly lost their burial shroud.

With a sudden gust of air, the storm arrived. Lightning struck in constant waves, illuminating the land in a dizzying flash, a hellish strobe light. The thunder hit like a physical force, booming and crashing as if the foundations of heaven were being torn asunder.

“Sweet Jesus!” Gertrude cried, her palms across her eyes.

Samuel watched, fascinated. His eyes ached in the brightness, but he could not look away. White veins pulsed in the clouds. The ash blew not eastward but upward, as if lifted to the heavens by God’s command. The car groaned. Its windows cracked. Deep in the distance, he watched a line of trees crack and fall.

Through it all, the world remained dry.

“Please, Jesus, save us!” Gertrude wailed.

As if a monster had suddenly awakened within him, Samuel pulled a pistol from his pocket and struck her atop the head with the butt. Before she even knew she was hurt, Gertrude slumped in her seat, the storm mercifully absent in her dreams.

When Gertrude awoke, her ankles were tied together, her hands bound separately behind her. The storm was a rumbling thing in the far distance. Their fire burned anew in its pit, and standing in the red light, gun in hand, was Samuel.

She let out a low moan, every bone in her body aching. The image of Samuel was so terrible she told herself it was a dream. Her eyes closed, but not for long. A rough hand grabbed her face and pulled it upward. She looked and saw Samuel, monster Samuel, his bloodshot eyes wide and wild.

“Do you know why I was travelling east?” he asked her.

“Where’s Alice?” she asked, ignoring him.

He struck her. Blood dripped down her lip.

“I asked you a question. You know why I was travelling east? Because I have something now. I have hope. Too long our nation rotted under old ideas, worn archaic foundations to an otherwise great society. But we’ll have to build anew, don’t you understand that, Gertrude?”