A Story of Cinders: From the Ashes

Chapter 47: The Golden Age

     Red kicked up ash and dust around the truck, searching for any sign of a trail. A cigarette butt, a footprint, an empty whiskey bottle. Anything at all. She looked at her wrist display again, making sure she was reading her orders correctly. "Track down the survivors. Kill them all." Her Cyrillic was rusty, but she was sure that's what it read. Charlie was alone. She'd take him down first. Then John. Then finish off Louis in his sleep.

Finally, she found something. A piece of fabric and some cigarette butts, followed by a few footprints. He hadn't covered his tracks as well as he thought. The bodies of the Charred in his wake sure didn't help his case either. She looked at the bodies. They were savagely hacked apart, missing limbs, with vicious gashes and stab wounds. Charlie was always fairly brutal, but this was a bit overboard for him. He truly didn't want to come home. He never spoke about it. So far all she knew was he lived in some building. A dormitory? No, he never went to college. He enlisted young. That much they all knew. An apartment? An orphanage? Probably the latter. It would explain a lot about him. Especially the substance abuse, the acting out, his lone-wolf attitude...

Then she heard something. A faint noise, like muttering in the distance. Quietly, she crept closer to it, listening intently. It had a rhythm to it. Suddenly, she realized it was a voice. Singing. Off key slightly, somber, and slurred. Almost more like a muttering. As if the singer didn't want to be heard. Not just because they were a bad singer, but because they wanted to be hidden. She pulled out her gun, creeping closer to the singer. They were sitting against the remnants of a blackened brick wall, head hung low. Finally, she made out what they were singing.

Boy we are family

No matter what they say

But boys are meant to flee

And run away one day

When the golden age is over

When the golden age is over

But the golden age is over

The golden age is over...

Charlie. His head rolled backward, locking eyes with Red, taking a swig from a bottle of whiskey. Next to him was another empty bottle. "That's 'The Golden Age.' By Woodkid, I think. Whaddya think of my singing voice?" he slurred.

"Needs work. Little too mumbly," she replied, putting her gun away.

"Eh... Always was a better guitarist than singer... Haven't touched one in years, though. Think I'd still be any good?" She didn't respond, still trying to break down what she was seeing. She had never seen Charlie this downtrodden. "What's wrong with you?" she asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Charlie asked, taking another swig of whiskey, then letting his head roll back onto the wall. "I'm drunk..."

"You always are, though," she responded, walking toward him.

Charlie chuckled a little, "but you've never seen me really drunk... Not like this... Guess it's fair. I caught you vulnerable, now you get to see me like this."

Red shook her head. "You're a mess..."

"Oh but you always knew I was... You wanna know why?"

"No, not particularly," she said, turning around.

Charlie continued anyway. "Have you ever been in love before, Johanna?" he asked. His words were mumbled, slightly slurred. He rolled his head back onto the scorched brick wall behind him.