David Dalglish - A Land of Ash

“Has the president reached out to other countries for aid? What can England or our allies do to help us?”

Carly shrugged.

“I’m not sure, sir. To be honest, it doesn’t look good. Our experts think that the rest of the world will hurt by this, too, just not as bad. The world’s in for a state of nuclear winter. We haven’t released that information to the public yet.”

The mayor began pacing. He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if the headache moved to the center of his face.

Carly saw the world on his shoulders, weighing the man down.

“So we have to prevent anarchy from taking a hold of the people, and hope some people starve to death for everything to be all right. That’s not exactly how I envisioned this,” D’Angelo said.

“I don’t think it’s actually what anyone had in mind, but we have to hope for the best.”

D’Angelo sighed again.

“Alright, Miss Simmons. Let’s get down to the nitty gritty.”

“Rationing? Are you kidding me? I have a family of six to feed!”

Then you should have closed your legs at some point, you dumb bitch , Carly thought with a smile. She stood at the head of a long line of Bostonians in City Hall Plaza, who came out to complain – loudly – about the refugees looking to make the great northeastern city their home.

“Ma’am, we feel this is the best way to handle the crisis we’re under. The government is taking control of the situation, and we expect to feed everyone.”

“The government is taking control?!” one man protesting, his accent thick and heavy. “They took over our health care, and now they’re going to tell us when and how much to eat? Are they going to tell us when we can take a piss, too?”

“Are you fucking stupid?” Carly retorted. The crowd quieted, as if stunned by such a response from a well-dressed public official.

“We need to work together,” she said. “We’ll all need to make sacrifices, regardless of what we believe in.” Sprinkles of gray began falling on the crowd. Many people cried as the ash accumulated lightly. “For all we know, we won’t get many refugees here. And besides, the east coast is a very large place; stations like this have been set up along the coast so many cities will see refugees, not just Boston.”

The crowd’s voice rose again, but Carly lifted her hands in a quest for silence.

“Folks, I know this is difficult for all of you, but please, let’s not think about ourselves. We’re going to see many tired, cold, hungry and scared people coming here. These are people who have lost their homes, relatives, friends, possessions. In short, they’ve lost everything. You folks still have homes and food in your refrigerators. These people have nothing except the clothes on their backs: We’re standing here at the possible end of the United States as we know it, and all you can bitch about is the government rationing out what little food we have? Grow the fuck up and show some consideration for your fellow man.”

One by one, the crowd silenced itself. Carly’s words pinballed inside their minds, striking a resonant chord.

Carly looked out and saw many ashamed faces staring at the ground.

She choked for a second, then recovered.

“Folks, if you have any clothes you can donate, old clothes that you don’t wear any longer, please consider dropping it off at one of our drop-off stations. These people are going to need some things to wear, and if you could help them out, the government would appreciate it.” She looked down at her clipboard. “I think that covers it.”

Carly gave no closing salutation. She turned and walked away from the podium while the murmurs of the crowd chased after her. She did not look to see if any of the people stayed; she had bigger worries to deal with at the moment.

She pulled out her BlackBerry and dialed the number again.

“What’s the situation? Where are the people coming to Boston?” She listened for a second. “The State Police set up traffic boards to direct people to Government Center, so they should be here soon. Thankfully the parking garage at Haymarket is pretty empty. It’s going to be a permanent lot now.” She looked up as the ash fell like gray snow. “If their cars can make it.”

Carly hung up and looked out toward Congress Street.

Soon there would be ash-covered cars with out of state plates lining up along the sidewalks. They’ll be wondering about their new home and where they’ll stay. With them came a million questions, and so very few answers.

God, I only hope I’m strong enough not to tell these people the truth. There is so little hope – for any of us.

A tank rolled by on Congress, the first of many as the National Guard arrived.

She hoped the situation would not get out of hand.

“This isn’t going to be like camping out, daddy,” Cassie said, her whiny 6-year-old voice coming right to the point. “When we went camping last year, the ground was soft and the air smelled nice. This,” -she waved her hand around, indicating the jagged edged bricks that encompassed their new surroundings- “isn’t so soft. And that tree smells like pee.”

Her father, Daniel, cringed.

“Sweetie, I know it’s bad, but we have to keep our spirits up.”

Cassie pouted and sat on the granite steps between City Hall and the squat federal building.

Daniel’s heart broke; he didn’t like his daughter upset.

But what can I do? he thought. We’ve been uprooted and cast from our home. It’s hard for any little girl to deal with. Hell, it’s hard for me to deal with. He clenched his eyes. Damn it, Carolyn! Why did you have to take that flight to Denver?

Daniel wanted to scream. He refused his grief, though: Daniel, now a single parent, had to be strong for his only child. The grief welled.

There were many times during their trip from Columbus to Boston that Daniel wanted to pull over and let the torrent of tears wash over and out of him. It wasn’t a smart idea to let the grief build up; his elders back home in Denver had told him that everyone needed to grieve at some point.

Just thinking about their words, now only in his memories, made him want to flee. Their bodies were no doubt under several feet of ash.

It’s not fair, Daniel thought as he sat down next to his daughter. It’s not fair that Cassie and I live while the rest of our family perishes. A solo teardrop did a long, slow march down his cheek. He wiped it away before Cassie could see it.

A tissue appeared out of thin air next to him. The sight startled him, but when his tear-filled eyes adjusted, he saw who held the tissue.

His jaw fell.

“I thought you might need this,” the woman said.

Daniel took it without a word, until his manners caught up with him.

“Thank you.”

My God, she is beautiful , he thought. She almost looks like my Carolyn .

“My name is Angela, and I’m with the city of Boston. I’m just taking a count of the refugees.”

“What do you need from us?” he asked. “It’s really just my daughter and I… now.”

He kept his tears at bay.

Angela marked her clipboard. Daniel could see a stack of papers held down upon it. He also saw no ring on her finger.

“And what are your names, and where are you from?”

“I’m Daniel Drake, and this is my daughter, Cassie. We’re from Columbus.”

“O-H.”

“I-O,” Daniel replied instinctively with a smile. Cassie leaned on his side. He wrapped his daughter up in a small blanket. A man in fatigues with a semi-automatic rifle walked by, looking around at everyone. Daniel eyed him warily.