David Dalglish - A Land of Ash

“Biggest there ever was. And he knew where to get it, too. Old farmer Rick had this prize carrot, but he guarded it with dogs and an electric fence. But papa bunny really wanted that carrot for mama bunny. It’d feed them through the winter. Such a carrot was a dream come true. So every day he went to the garden, testing fences, racing the dogs. Every day he came back tired and worn, but still no carrot.”

“This is a sad story,” Melissa said.

“Sometimes stories are sad,” Jason said.

He stared at where the television hid in the darkness, thinking how much easier it had once made their lives. His daughter squirmed beside him.

“Well, what happened?” she asked.

“Papa bunny finally figured out a way to get that carrot. He outran the dogs. He outsmarted the farmer. He dug that carrot up and ran home, dragging it by its leafy top. But mama bunny wasn’t there. Papa bunny had been gone so long, she forgot who he was and wandered off. The carrot was so big, papa bunny couldn’t eat it by himself. It rotted, and it stank, and he couldn’t clean the smell out of the walls. So he left their rabbit hole forever. The end.”

“Is that what happened to you and mom?” Melissa asked.

He kissed her forehead.

“It’s just a story, sweetheart,” he told her.

Lunch was another bowl of cereal. For dinner, Jason pulled out a bag of frozen meatballs and let them thaw on the counter. After a couple of hours, they were soft enough to eat.

“Just imagine them surrounded with spaghetti,” Jason said. “All slippery and warm.”

“I hate spaghetti.”

“Spaghetti hates you too,” he said.

They slept together on the couch, their bellies full. Jason had chased what little thirst they had with a few sips of soda. Things were going to get worse, but at least they had plenty to eat while things were roughest outside. All throughout the night, the ceiling cracked and groaned.

Come the morning, Jason pulled back the giant curtain in the living room.

“Hot damn!” he shouted, an idiot smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Melissa stirred and rubbed her eyes. Without a flashlight, he saw her do so, and he laughed again. Pouring in through the window was a dim gray light. Starlight was brighter, but compared to the thick cave-like darkness, nothing could have been more beautiful. Melissa joined her father’s side and took his hand. Together, they looked out upon the lawn.

The ash still fell, a death snow killing every blade of grass, smothering every flower, and coating every vehicle. Jason guessed at least two inches, if not more. The wind picked up, and the air clogged with thin, sand-like gusts of ash.

“Can we go out and play?” Melissa asked.

“It still isn’t safe,” Jason said. “Once it stops…snowing, we can try to get out. We’ll wear masks over our face, like ski masks. You know when your grandma smokes, and it smells bad and hurts to breathe in? It’s like that out there, just worse.”

“Nothing’s worse than grandma’s smokes,” Melissa insisted. “Except maybe Mark’s breath. It smells like boogers.”

Jason laughed on instinct. His heart wasn’t in it. Most likely grandma was dead. He’d tried not to think about it, but he saw little hope. Would anyone stay with the elderly in a nursing home after hearing the news? Perhaps a few would. He wanted to think that. But he knew otherwise. Hell, even that Mark kid was probably gone, packed into a car and driven east in a frantic bid for safety.

“I’m sure Mark’s breath is bad,” he said, turning and coughing to hide his wipe at his eyes. “Still, out there is worse. That’s why we’re staying inside. We’re safe here. We have shelter.”

Jason went through and opened all the curtains. He knew what little heat they had would escape faster, but right then it seemed light was more crucial to life than warmth. Just in case, he threw on another sweater and zipped Melissa up in a jacket. They ate the last of the cereal, then scrounged around for some games. Jason pushed aside his computer desk so they had plenty of room to play by the window.

“Your computer,” Melissa said as it toppled over. “Don’t you need it?”

Jason only laughed.

They played checkers, Candyland, and a Spongebob game whose rules Melissa seemed to understand more than Jason did. They moved around markers, bumped into each other, took turns tickling one another, and then finally finished with a great roaring campfire song. Melissa giggled in his arms. She noticed the puffs of white every time she exhaled, so she put two fingers to her mouth and then blew.

“Look, I’m granny,” she said.

A loud crack startled them both. Jason lurched to the window, wiping at the frost in hopes of seeing what made the noise. It didn’t matter. The ash was too thick on the other side.

“What happened?” Melissa asked.

“It sounded like glass,” Jason said. “I’m not sure what.”

“Can you go look?” she asked.

Jason shook his head, then thumped it against the glass. A bit of the ash fell. Rolling his eyes, Jason slapped his hand against the glass, scattering more of the ash. He saw the cause immediately. The back window of his car had collapsed inward, thick ash pouring into the back seat. He bit his lip, wondering if maybe a large rock from the eruption had struck his car.

No, he thought, shaking his head. That was dumb. He knew what had happened. He’d just hoped otherwise. The ash was rock, thin rock, but rock nonetheless. Once it settled, it was like concrete, and two inches was more than enough to slowly crack and break the glass.

“What was it?” Melissa asked. She joined his side and looked out at the land of ash. “Someone throw a rock?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Come on. Let’s have a rematch at that checkers game. I think you cheated.”

“Did NOT,” she insisted.

He stole one last glance outside before sitting down. Trees lined the edge of his property, their branches hung low as if bowing in deference to the darkened sky.

Jason awoke to the sound of screeching metal. He rolled off the couch, banging his elbow on the table and scattering checker pieces. Melissa startled, her blankets pulled about her, her cry piercing the darkness.

“Shit,” said Jason as he clutched his elbow and sucked in his breath. He fumbled about for the flashlight. From the far side of the house, metal shrieked again, coupled with a sudden roaring of wind.

“Daddy, I’m scared, make it stop!” cried Melissa.

Jason felt the touch of plastic and curled his fingers about it. As the light flicked on, he aimed it toward the door.

“It’s alright, babe,” he said. “Daddy’s going to see what the matter is, all right?”

“What’s going on?” she asked. The sound of metal died down, but the wind remained.

“Something happened in my bedroom. You stay here and be a brave girl, okay?”

As he stepped into the kitchen, the light of his flashlight aimed toward his bedroom door, he heard Melissa sob. Feeling like an idiot, he retrieved a second flashlight from a drawer and brought it to her. He clicked it on and shone it at her hands.

“No monsters can survive a flashlight’s touch,” he told her, kissing her forehead.

“Or ghosts?”

“Not ghosts, either.”

She hugged the flashlight to her chest and looked at him, trying so hard to be brave.

“Okay. I’m all right now, dad.”

He smiled even as his heart pounded in his chest. He’d seen the bedroom door for just a brief moment, but there was no mistaking the streams of ash billowing in through the cracks. Grabbing a roll of duct tape, he went back into the kitchen. Pausing before the door, his hand on the knob, he closed his eyes and prayed.