David Dalglish - A Land of Ash

Just as he was about to pull up his shirt, a hand touched him. He screamed, certain the lady had woken, her curled fingers clutching his bony shoulder as her drooling mouth opened wider, determined to suck out the life that was not rightfully hers. But instead it was a policeman, tired and unshaven.

“Move, kid,” he said. His voice brooked no argument. His hand was on his nightstick, and that scared Derek even worse than his voice. He got up and ran, not caring where he was going. His heart thumped in his chest, but a glance back showed the officer was not following, so he slowed. Already he felt lightheaded and out of breath. His stomach grumbled angrily.

His run took him to the tunnels leading to the locker rooms. He’d tried to explore them several times, but too many doors were locked. He had, however, managed to snag a football from a cart, but two older boys had stolen that from him a week later. Men and women sat along the sides of the walls in their respective lines. Some held towels or changes of clothes while others waited empty-handed, their clothes faded and dirty. Derek felt their dead eyes watching him, as if just waiting for him to try to cut in line.

“Back there,” one man said, his face covered with a scraggly beard.

“Not showering,” Derek said, running back toward the field, then cutting to the right to walk along the wall before the bleachers.

Getting an idea, he found the steps up and then began the climb. He took them one at a time, counting for a little while until he got past thirty. Twin girls ran down the steps, jostling him into a sleeping mom with a very quiet baby in her arms.

“Watch it,” the woman said as she stirred and glared. Feeling her hating eyes burning his back, Derek hurried upward. His optimism faded with his energy as he neared the top. He’d hoped to find a corner somewhere, but there were people even there. They slept in the seats, some even stretched out along the aisles atop blankets. He passed a bucket buzzing with flies. Inside reeked. They were using it as a potty, Derek realized. Evidently they were too weak to keep climbing up and down the stairs.

Derek walked along the top, his arms crossed over his chest. His stomach hurt, and had since about halfway through his climb. The people he passed gave him curious glances, those who bothered to look at all.

“Are you lost?” one lady asked. She wore a dark suit and a silver necklace.

Derek shook his head.

“My mom’s down there,” he said, pointing to the field.

“Ah,” the lady said, laying her head back down against the chair. Her smile was a soft comfort. “Good. That’s good.”

Further along the top he found a large section added atop the stadium. It had once been private, but its windows were smashed. Inside was a broken mess. Derek poked his head in but quickly hurried away. Big men were in there amid the wreckage, and they had a woman with them. She was crying, but not very loud.

Feeling dejected, Derek started back down the steps. His skin itched from where the package pressed against it, slick with sweat.

I have to find somewhere to be alone, he thought. Mommy will be upset if I don’t.

A big kid shoved him into the railing as he passed by up the stairs, but Derek bit his tongue to hold in his cry. Crying seemed to make them madder.

Somewhere secret. Somewhere alone. Where could he find a place like that? Standing at a railing running perpendicular to the stairs, he looked out across the stadium. Everywhere he saw people. They walked, they talked, they lay on beds and sat in chairs. The whole stadium felt like a swarming mass of people, and it stank of their sweat, fear, and exhaustion. Why would mom give him such an impossible task?

No, he thought, shaking his head. Super-Spies got impossible missions all the time. He wouldn’t wimp out. He wouldn’t start crying. He wouldn’t!

A bit of a spring in his step, he hurried back down to the field, an idea forming. He was small, just a little thing compared to the others. He could hide where the adults could not, not even the big kids. As he weaved his way back to the field, he passed one of the concession stands. For awhile they had been little kitchens, and his mom had taken him there for food, but not anymore. The food was gone. The stand’s bars were lowered, its lights off. Trucks had come the first few months with bread and soup, but no longer.

When he reached the field, he started looking for the tractor. They were up in the far northeast, and he’d seen it a couple times, one day climbing up and down it until some adults had yelled at him. He didn’t think anyone would yell at him now.

He found it parked to the side of one endzone. Thrilled, Derek let out a whoop. It was big and boxy, less of a tractor and more of an oversized riding mower. Attached to the back was a stretcher, long and flat. It wasn’t very high off the ground, but it was enough. Hoping the secret package wouldn’t get damaged, he crawled underneath on his belly. He bumped his head twice along the bottom, but he his cry came out as a long hiss. He wouldn’t reveal his presence, not now. It was cramped, and he could hardly move, but there was no way anyone else would get to him there in the center.

Excitement tugging at his heart, he untucked his shirt and pulled out the package.

It was indeed wrapped in plastic, though the top was cardboard. Inside was a glob of gummy-worms, fused together from the heat. Derek’s mouth watered at the sight. He tore off the top and tossed it aside. Hungry as he was, he carefully separated each worm, tearing at the sides where they had melted together. When he put the first into his mouth and bit down, the sugar spreading across his tongue, he finally did cry.

When his crying stopped, he ate another, and another. Each bite was full of memories of his father sitting to his right in the theater as they watched a movie. He’d always gotten gummies, his father, popcorn. His stomach twisted and coiled, as if angry at the lack of substance as he wolfed down the candy. He didn’t care. Snot dripped from his nose, but he wiped his face on his shoulder. He wondered if he’d ever watch cartoons again. If he’d ever return to school and play tag with Mike and Jeffy. If he’d ever see his daddy again.

At last he crawled out from the cart, his fists clenched tight, his face muddy and covered with bits of green turf. He worked his way back to his mom, to her little cot and his superman blankets. When he arrived, she lay very still.

“Mom,” he said, touching her shoulder. She didn’t move.

“Mom?”

Her eyes flicked open.

“Yes, babe?” she asked.

He held out his hand, two gummy-worms smooshed in his palm. Seeing this, she smiled.

“Thank you,” she said, taking them. She didn’t chew them, only slowly working them across her tongue as she sucked in the sugar and flavor. Derek joined her on the cart and moved her arm around him as they cuddled, his mom softly crying, his secret mission a wonderful success.

Ash covered the landscape like cold, dead snow. Small lumps scattered throughout the yard, buried in the piles of blowing dust. They might have been objects forgotten during the rush to beat the easterly wind, or perhaps the remains of the chickens the useless feed in the buckets used to nourish. A cold wind blew, revealing a blackened joint. It might have been the elbow or knee of some poor soul who’d come in search of help; help they obviously no longer needed.

Guido grunted and turned away. Nothing he hadn’t seen before. He continued around the old farmhouse, back creaking, lungs wheezing. Placing a hand on the back porch’s stoop, he rested a moment. His eyes looked skyward. Dark clouds still loomed ominous overhead. They billowed so deep and low they seemed to stretch for miles into the atmosphere. Water fell on the shield of his gas mask. He whisked the drops away with a wipe of his gloved hand, leaving trails of black soot. Another gust of wind caught him unaware, and he shivered at its biting cold.