Battle of Ash

Chapter 24

"Thank God for imminent Doomsday." Jim Butcher

2018.01.02 05:56
"Get up."

Ash groaned and rolled over. It was too early. He should know better by now.

"Ash!" Dillon yelled, "Get up! We've gotta get a move on. They'll be back soon."

She sat blearily, looking around. She'd found a warehouse a couple weeks ago. A few infected lingered in the larger areas but some doomsday preppers had obviously the know-how to make it more than hospitable. A veritable sanctuary in a world without most modern conveniences. A tank on the roof provided water for a shower- a filtration system kept the larger bugs out, a drum attached to a bicycle helped wash the clothes more vigorously; far more deeply than Ash could manage with her bare hands. There had been a supply of lye and lavender soap that was an absolute God-send. They had a good supply stacked against the far wall on a shelving unit with rations and amounts and had obviously begun building some sort of engine.

They had raided gas stations along the way, breaking into the propane storages and ice tanks. It was smart, not a lot of people thought about that stuff when the world came to an end. Propane had a virtually endless shelf life. At one point, probably most recently, there had been some sort of skirmish. Burn marks and broken containers had littered the place when Ash had bolted in. An attempt to escape some infected.

"We've gotta go." Dillon repeated.

Ash threw off her sleeping bag.

"Jeez." Dillon hissed, "Some decency, woman."

She ignored his teasing. It had been so long now that they were both more than familiar with the idea of nudity. Plus it saved on the wear and tear of clothes. Take them off before bed, quick wash to get rid of some of the grime, hang to dry; hop in the shower in the morning and get dressed again. It had become a monotonous existence, but Socks didn't seem to mind. Ash certainly didn't. All the travelling, the miles and miles over the last year, was exhausting. Thankfully some pantyhose had helped save her feet, but even the nylon couldn't protect against friction forever.

Silently she checked her gun and her knife. Ammo was running low, but there was enough to give her a good chance.

"We need to get more." Dillon commented over her shoulder.

She nodded, checking her blade.

"Sharp as ever." He commented.

He was getting impatient. Ash could tell. Ever since the dome in Ohio he'd been anxious, always the conscious in the group- telling her what to do and when. She didn't mind too much though. At least she wasn't lonely.

She pulled on the cord, shivering as the winter water sprayed down on her. Quickly she lathered her head and body, shaving quickly with her blade and drying before the chill of the January air could penetrate to her bones. Her hands absently went to her hair, the towel scratched and caught, her hands pausing as they touched the bristle of stubble.

After her fall at the dome she'd had to stitch up the gash on her scalp, to save on time she'd chopped off her long hair, taking care to go back over it a couple months later- after she had been wandering around the wasteland looking half like an infected herself- to shave everything down neatly. It had been a couple weeks. Her hair was not in any hurry to grow back.

She threw on her regular gear; t-shirt, hoodie, winter coat, nylons, socks, carharts, winter boots, gloves and the beanie she had taken from the warehouse. Her skin was dry and angry with the cold when she stepped outside. A light sprinkle of snow hinted to the freezing temperatures outside.