A Story of Cinders: From the Ashes

Chapter 45: I Will Follow You into the Dark

     Miles from the others, Charlie parked the truck near the outskirts of Ground Zero, just within the old city limits. He stepped out of the cab as a gust of wind blew in his face. He grinned, knowing that the wind would make covering his tracks much easier. Just one less thing to be worried about. And he had plenty to deal with as it was. The first of which was the Charred. They were hiding everywhere. Or perhaps they weren't. He couldn't see them at all. And by the time he could see them, he would be swarmed. And that was a noisy truck. No doubt he would have gotten their attention. Then he remembered the night after the Reno battle, around the campfire. They never crossed the threshold of the light. Of course: they're afraid of fire. That makes sense. Hastily, hiding behind the truck, he took a moderately whole piece of cinder, wrapped an alcohol-soaked piece of cloth from his jacket around it, and lit it on fire with his lighter. Thank God his whiskey was potent enough to catch fire. He took a long drink, then ventured forth. He stared at the dancing flame in front of him, hoping there were no soldiers around. They did not fear the flame as much as the Charred. They followed a man who damn near worshiped fire. That's why he was walking in this scar of human civilization, through the ruins of buildings he had seen before the Day of Fire. He looked at the building on his right. It used to be a flower shop. He took a step inside, drawn by nostalgia. Breathing the scent of ash and burned wood, he looked around. The shelves were still standing. Some pots sat upon them still. The others had fallen to the ground, their shattered remains scattered among the ash. He heard something crunch under his foot as he took a step. He looked down, seeing it was a human leg bone. In any other instance, it would have been horrifying. But not in here. Walking in a graveyard, he expected to find remains. Instead of frightened, he was saddened. Not everyone made it out alive, unfortunately.

Although for some, surviving was more unfortunate. Those shambling, mad animals crawling around outside would rather have died than be cursed with the life they have. They would rather be the skeleton Charlie stepped on than be the beasts he hides from, kept at bay by torchlight. At least skeletons can't feel pain. The pain that drives the Charred mad. Like the skeletons, they were unrecognizable from who they were before, but at least the bones were at rest. A skull doesn't have to look at the monster in the mirror, knowing that it's their reflection.

Skeletons don't have the gnawing hunger of the Charred either. Skeletons don't have to eat. The Charred do. The sound of the debris being unsettled caught Charlie's attention. He turned around quickly, holding his torch ahead of him. The lone Charred behind him jumped back, shrieking in fear. He stared at the hunched figure in its yellow eyes, looking at the being behind them. He had seen eyes like that in his past. When he was in Juarez, he had helped rescue a group of starved, abused pit dogs from the Cartel. It was a mix of terror, bloodlust, hunger, and sadness in those eyes then. In these eyes now. The tortured man did not want to kill him, but knew he had to eat. To survive. It growls at Charlie. He waves the torch again, pulling out his kukri with his other hand. "Stay back!" Charlie shouts. It backs out of the building, arms covering its face, still hissing and growling. Charlie steps outside, still watching the Charred in front of him. His heart stops, seeing the new pairs of eyes in front of him. There is a dozen separate eyes now. One of the pairs was brave, and charges into the light, wanting to extinguish the flame.

Charlie grumbles, then slashes at the Charred, gashing it across the chest. It doesn't stop the animal. It claws at Charlie's chest, its nails scraping paint off his body armor. He sidesteps and hacks at the neck. It falls to the ground, twitching and writhing. He looks back up just in time to see another mere inches from his face. Quickly, Charlie clubs it across the face with his torch. It lets out a horrible, sickening shriek, running away from the flame. Charlie runs his kukri through its back, putting the poor creature out of its misery. It whimpers pathetically. The other four are not as brave. They watch Charlie, breathing heavily, staring at the dead. Then he turns, practically roaring at the four. They scatter like roaches. Lighting a cigarette with the torch, Charlie turned back on his path and kept waking. There was somewhere he had to go. He had spent seven years delaying this. Avoiding this pain. He had elected for slow torture, rather than the stab in the heart he was expecting from this. But he had to know if she survived. Or at the very least, find her remains. At least then he would know for sure. He took another drink to numb the pain.