Ash: Rise of the Republic (17 page)

"We're all in agreement: you're the one we
want in charge, you've proven yourself full of good ideas. But it
pisses us off to see you standing here trying to take the blame for
something that's not your fault rather than figuring out what our
next move is going to be."

"Do you all feel the same way?" I asked,
suddenly sheepish. There were more nods. Deb shrugged. "Ok then.
We'll stay here until dawn. We'll need sentries. Deb and I will
take first watch. Everyone else try to get a few hours rest.”

****

In the chilly morning light, we gathered for another
meeting. My neighbors, wrapped in dusty blankets, huddled over
steaming mugs of coffee brewed clumsily over a camp stove. I paced
in front of them, my eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. I had kept
watch all night, trying to decide on a course of action. The answer
had finally come to me as the grey to the east began to
lighten.

“Something occurred to me this morning. Back
there when the reverend was making his threats and going on about
abominations and corruption of man, I didn’t take him seriously. I
thought maybe it was his way of justifying looting and murder. I
thought he was just after our supplies, but I was wrong. I think he
really believes he’s been chosen by god to destroy civilization.
Think about the way they attacked. Once they broke in, they just
started setting houses on fire. They weren’t looting, they were
destroying.

“I’ve been trying not to think about it, but
I think it’s time to come to terms with the fact that civilization
is collapsing. For the last month, we’ve been sitting around,
waiting for this all to be over. We’ve been treating this like it’s
the aftermath of some hurricane or earthquake, as if we just need
to hunker down and survive until the government sends in disaster
relief. The fact is, we haven’t seen any evidence that there is a
government left at all. Everything’s been torn down around us and
we’ve been waiting for the adults to come and help us. Well, that’s
not going to happen! We can’t waste any more time waiting for help.
We’ve got to help ourselves. If we want to see civilization again
then we’re going to have to build it. The first step on that road
is to preserve what’s left.

“Those lunatics back there aren’t just a
band of looters and murderers. If they aren’t stopped soon they’re
going to wipe out everything we have left. I’m not just talking
about people’s houses. Think about how hard it will be to start
over if they tear down the hospitals, the airports, the bridges,
the schools. Just look what they did to the power plant. It might
be years before we can build another one. They have to be
stopped.

“You all know full well that ten miles from
here is one of the largest universities in the country. Everything
we need to rebuild is right there: a power plant, medical
facilities, greenhouses, living quarters for thousands of people,
and, most importantly, a huge library. If the reverend and his
‘Fellowship’ get their hands on it, we’ll be set back a hundred
years. It’s the only thing standing between us and the dark ages.
We have to get there first, we have to protect it!”

****

The old dozer finally sputtered to a halt at the edge
of the sprawling main campus. The big dormitories of Northside
towered above us, dark and lifeless. The buildings had once bustled
with students, vibrant with youthful enthusiasm, but now they stood
empty, haunted.

The ash was too deep for the trucks, but we
couldn’t leave the convoy in the middle of the road. We were only a
few hundred yards short of a small parking garage, so we broke out
shovels and the whole party took turns digging a path. The work was
grueling. It took us two hours to reach the garage. Our hands were
blistered and our backs ached from lifting shovelfuls of the heavy
ash.

The box truck was too tall to fit through
the low garage opening. We parked it outside and transferred the
precious supplies into the beds of the trucks as they entered. We
parked the convoy on the third floor. The garage was surprisingly
full, but a thick layer of ash, blown in on the wind, covering the
parked cars testified to their disuse.

We posted sentries at the entrances and then
set up camp on the cool concrete floor. While a few of our
neighbors prepared a meal, Deb and I climbed the stairs to the roof
for a look around, hoping for evidence that the eerily silent
campus was still inhabited. The power plant was just across the
street, directly below us, but I could see no movement. It was
clearly abandoned and inactive. I hoped it had just been shut down
and not destroyed. I peered through my binoculars at the rest of
the buildings around me. I could see no lights, no smoke, no
movement, the campus was dead, a ghost-town. Discouraged, we
returned to the campsite. After a meal of canned beans and stale
crackers, I finally collapsed under the weight of two days' worth
of exhaustion.

The next morning we went exploring. Five of
us filled backpacks with rations and ammunition, shouldered our
weapons, and set off into the grey morning. Moving through the ash
was a struggle from the first step. It was thigh deep in most
places. Thankfully it had compacted under its own weight so our
legs only sank in to the middle of our calves, but even so we were
soon exhausted with the effort. We headed straight for the nearest
building, sighing in relief as we stepped down through a broken
glass door and landed on solid footing. In the dim light filtering
in through the tops of the windows, we could see that the central
lobby was empty, curiously devoid of furniture. The small snack bar
at one end had been ransacked, its display case smashed and its
vending machines gutted. The outer doors of an elevator stood open,
revealing nothing but gloomy darkness. We found the lobby furniture
packed into the main stairwell. The tangled mass of chairs and
tables obviously placed there to deter intruders. We took this as a
sign of habitation, but no one answered our echoing shouts.

Unwilling to waste time negotiating the
jumble of furniture, we decided to try our luck with the next
building. We crawled back out through the shattered door and
struggled through the ash toward the nearby geology building.
Halfway there a shot cracked in the still morning air.

The bullet buried itself in a puff of ash a
few feet ahead of me. The others raised their rifles in response
but I waved them down. We were stranded in the open, a dozen yards
from cover. Hoping the shot was a warning and not just a poorly
aimed attack, I left my rifle hanging from my shoulder and raised
my hands over my head.

"We're friends!" I shouted up at the
impassive building. "We're here to help!"

"Help with what?" The reply came from behind
us.

I turned to find that our small group was
surrounded by cops. There were only five of them, but all but one
were staring at us down the sights of their rifles. They were dirty
and unshaven, their uniforms almost white with ash. Their leader,
the man who had spoken, walked a few paces forward and waved at the
roof of the building we had been moving towards.

"I want you all to put your weapons down on
the ground in front of you. Move slowly, the good doctor Burns has
grown jumpy after the last couple packs of looters, I doubt he'll
bother with another warning shot."

We complied nervously. As I bent to lay my
rifle in the ash, I risked a glance at the roof. A hooded figure
crouched behind the low wall at the edge, peering through the scope
of his rifle at me.

His orders carried out, the tall officer
relaxed and smiled warmly at us. His brilliant white teeth
contrasted sharply with his dark skin.

"I'm Rodney Jones, UPD. I'm guessing you're
with the group that's taken over my parking garage?"

"Grover McLelland," I replied, "Yes, we
needed a place to stow our vehicles. I can assure you we're here
peacefully. Our neighborhood was attacked by a band of lunatics the
night before last. We're looking for a safe place for the children.
We don't want any trouble."

"Well we won't give you any if you behave
yourselves. Why don't we go inside and talk about it." He gestured
toward the geology building. The other officers walk over and
collected our weapons. "Until I get to know you a little better,"
Jones reassured me before I could protest.

I was surprised at how quickly they moved
through the ash until I noticed the shoes they were wearing. Their
feet were strapped to wooden frames which spread their weight out
like snow shoes and kept them from sinking into the loose ash. They
quickly outpaced us on our way to the building. I resolved to make
a pair for myself.

The glass door to the annex had been
shattered at some point and was now boarded up with thick plywood.
Jones hammered on it a few times with his fist. After a
surprisingly long wait, a peephole slid open. A young man with
thick glasses and close cropped dark curly hair looked out at us
suspiciously for a moment and then swung the door open. As we
stepped inside he padded off down the long hallway without a
word.

Jones rolled his eyes, nodding at the
retreating figure, "Scientists. It's the end of the world and all
they want to do is work."

He led us to a side room lined with decades
of old periodicals. A pair of dusty couches were flanked by a few
glossy old leather armchairs. He motioned for us to sit.

"I'm afraid I can't offer you much in terms
of refreshments, supplies are running low." For the first time, I
noticed how drawn and thin his face was. His uniform seemed a few
sizes too big. His men settled into chairs, their frames similarly
diminished by hunger.

"When was the last time you ate something,
officer?" I asked, hoping to make a peace offering.

"Please, call me Rodney. I won't lie to you,
it's starting to get hungry around here. Most of the food in the
cafeteria freezers spoiled when the power went. We've been living
off of junk from the vending machines, but that's running out
quick. I hope you and your people haven't come looking for a
handout. As much as I'd love to help, we can't spare a crumb."

"How does a big mess of scrambled eggs
sound?" I asked with a grin.

"Ugh, don't play that game. I don't think
we'll ever have a decent breakfast again." he replied,
groaning.

"It's not a game, it’s an offer. We've got a
dozen chickens up there in the garage. We've been eating fresh eggs
every morning since all this started. I'll make sure you get some
later. For now, I can offer you canned chili if you like. With
beans or without?" I pulled the cans from my pack with a flourish.
My friends began producing similar gifts.

The cops gazed hungrily at the bounty we had
produced. Jones picked up a can, turning it lovingly in his hands.
I handed him my can opener and he had the lid off in seconds. He
drank half of it down and sighed in satisfaction. The other
officers devoured their own cans with similar gusto.

"I always hated this stuff." Jones laughed,
"but I've never tasted anything so delicious."

"There's plenty more. How many people do you
have here?"

"Around thirty in this building, but there
are hundreds more all over campus. Most of the students left when
things went to shit, but a lot of the professors and grads just
showed up to work in their labs like nothing had happened. Fucking
scientists...” He rolled his eyes again.

“We tried to make it to one of the grocery
stores on the other side of campus, but there's a bad bunch dug in
at one of the middle schools. I lost some good men before I called
it off. The savages wouldn't even talk to us...just started
shooting." He stopped there and stared at the floor, reliving the
tragedy.

I broke the silence. "What food we have
won't go far I'm afraid, but we've got some ideas on how we can get
more. Look Rodney, we'll gladly share what we have, but I need
something in return."

"There's always a price, I hope it isn't too
steep, we can't offer much."

Glad to finally have an ally, I sat back and
told him about the Fellowship.

****

It was a month before they arrived. We had plenty of
warning. Their progress south was marked by soot-black columns of
roiling smoke, each a miniature reminder of the huge pillar which
had caused it all. The reverend was doing his holy duty, wiping the
stain of man from the earth. We kept sentries in the high buildings
at the edge of campus.

We had made good use of the time allotted to
us. The scientists, administrators, maintenance workers, and
students who had huddled in fear and despair in the dark buildings
were organized and put to work. The weeks they had spent struggling
to survive had sapped them of purpose, most were simply waiting to
die. They rallied behind our cause; we filled them with a renewed
hope for the future.

Our first order of business had been to
clear the streets. Officer Jones led a working party to the campus
motor pool and returned with dozens of yellow plastic fuel cans,
each heavy with diesel. Scott had the dozer moving again shortly,
and went to work plowing the tangle of roads and pathways between
the buildings. Soon, more heavy equipment was scoured from the ash.
By then end of the first week, Scott and a dozen maintenance
workers and mechanics had cleared most of main campus.

As the streets were cleared, progress on the
rest of our projects accelerated. We organized scouting parties,
each with three or four men and women, and we traipsed through the
ash ahead of the dozers, making contact with the groups marooned in
the buildings. We found a dozen of the school's top administrators
starving and desperate in the academic building. Once they were
properly fed, we set them to work organizing our efforts. The
stately building, with its towering rotunda and balustraded
balconies became our headquarters. Our dwindling stock of precious
supplies was transferred to a storeroom there and kept under
guard.