Battle of Ash

Chapter 20

"I had plans for my future and
they didn't involve the world ending
or society collapsing."
J. M. Northup

2017.07.11 14:20
Rows of crudely made crosses adorned with animal bones, foliage, and withered flowers lay before mounds of dirt. Upon closer inspection Ash could make out jewelry or knives, baubles from people who had paid their respects she assumed. Some of the graves were very old, grass had already begun to reclaim the upturned earth and others were fresh enough to see the worms still trying to wriggle their way back into the darkness.

And they stretched on as far as Ash could see. At least a mile of graves all lined up, at least four deep.

"Wh-what is this?" Dillon's voice was quiet, hesitant.

"This is where people come to die." The man who had let them in appeared like an apparition.

He looked even worse up close. His bones jutted from sagging skin, his hair was stringy; barely there. Everything about him screamed nutritional starvation. His clothes hung off him like a flag on a windless day. When he moved they flapped about almost comically.

"There's always been at least one person here to bury those that waste away." His voice was thin and waif like. "You are the next keepers of the graves."

"Wait!" Ash barked, "What about the stuff beneath the dome? What about-?"

The man shook his head. It looked like it would snap right off his neck and roll away.

"Infected got down there in the beginning. The safety checks failed. We locked it up, secured it." His voice floated off, as though his mind was forgetting what he was talking about. "It's my turn now though."

"How long have you been here?" Dillon stepped closer.

The action worried Ash.

"I have been here since the beginning." A steel came to his eyes that made him seem almost alive again. "I watched the city turn, I watch people become food for other people. I watched those who had lost everything come to me and wait. And waste. And I buried them. And I let others in and buried them." The life had faded now, he was back to being mild, meek.

"You didn't kill them, did you?" Ash's voice was low.

He shook his head. "Just the infected ones. They aren't allowed in here. This is for people."

"What did you do with the bodies then?"

"We burned them on the far side, where the oldest of graves are. From the beginning before we started separating them." His arm pointed, cracking with each movement.

"Well we aren't here to waste away and die." Ash growled as the man turned back to the graves, away from the forest.

"You might not be." He whispered, "But your friend isn't protesting."

With that he walked away. Dillon's eyes met Ash as she turned to look sharply at him. It stunned her to see that the fire in her eyes, the anger and resentment that smoldered and emanated from her body was missing in his gaze. Cool, calm acceptance met her glare. He moved closer and together they began walking into the woods, away from the graves, from the infected pounding on the walls, from the creep ghost man just waiting to die. Even Socks had managed to wander off, not completely unusual but welcome nonetheless.

Ash itched to speak as they strolled through the grass, backpacks weighing on their shoulders, masks off for the first time in months. She watched Dillon, observing him intently as his eyes wandered with a leisure that rubbed her the wrong way. His skin was incredibly tanned aside from where the mask had been. Almost permanent indents and callouses were now built up on his cheeks. A line where the strap secured on the back of his head had been etched into his hair.