Ashen

Prologue - Ashen Part One

Prologue

Gramps was best described as structurally sound. While his bull's body still wasn't immune to the compressions of age, settled deep within his gut was a caring soul and a low center of gravity that kept him the steady, stable presence his only grandson needed. Most of his time was spent on their front porch, with the cards of his unending neighborhood poker games nestled unevenly between his gnarled, factory-accident fingers. Yet despite Gramps' many trials and the losses belonging to all old men, resting beside his glinting eyes were the crow's feet earned by a life of looking on the bright side.

It was summer, midday, c. 2271. The stench of smog and garbage hung low in the humid air of the city outskirts, but the residents couldn't distinguish the smell; it was the perfume of the projects, as they had always known it. At the helm of his make-shift poker table, Gramps held up his three fingered right hand against his sweaty brow, blocking the sun as he studied his opponents. Lanky Ricky from across the street on his left, who wanted to learn the game from the best- and Gramps was the best- so as to impress the girls on the corner, and lengthen the trail of broken hearts he left in his wake. Gene from next door on his right, half Gramps' age with a stomach twice his size, a man who left a trail of cigarette butts behind him to rival Ricky's. Directly across was Big Marlene, an ex-trucker who leveled her milky eye on the old man's face as if to say, 'bring it on'.

The entire neighborhood was out today. Rolling blackouts had hit them again, and sticky pavement was better than the dark musk of their apartments. On the sidewalk next to the stoop, ten-year-old Jasper and his best friends- twins Nicky and Micky, the younger siblings and permanent thorn in the thigh of their older brother Ricky- planned an imaginary heist on the corner shop at the end of the block. Down the street the real rabble- who had dubbed themselves Scorch, Rat, and XZ- leaned against the bricks, talking about guns and fights, hoping the girls trading gossip on the balcony above would overhear.

Poker had ground to its typical halt: a stare-down stand-off. Ricky tried as best to look intimidating as he could with his baby blues, Gene wrenched out a belch meant to set everyone else on edge, and Big Marlene flashed a toothless smirk. Their target was, as always, the unbeatable Gramps. But the old man just whistled to his Grandson.

"J, come over here." Jasper scrambled off his scraped-up knees and tripped all over his gangly self running to his guardian's side. Reaching the man, he straightened his back like the tiniest soldier ever reporting for duty. The other players groaned, knowing what was coming. "Hold my cards, I'm gettin' another beer."

Jasper took his job very seriously; as soon as his grandfather left his seat and the screen door sprang shut with a crash, the boy slipped into the folding chair and gripped the cards like every diamond and spade was another digit in the nuclear codes. Around the table the other three slapped theirs down and leaned back, the plastic creaking beneath them.

Little did they know, as little as everyone knows at the time, those were the days; and never could they have known this was the day they ended.

The rabble, their talk having turned from fights and guns to parroting lines from movies they'd seen like they'd made them up themselves- under a mutual pact never to call each other on it- spied an outsider around the corner.

Ashen skin: that's what they noticed first. They weren't too far from the border, the other world that was the other side of the city. Every once in a while one of those things crossed over, wasn't like it was illegal or anything, but the young men had begun to think of themselves as a sort of police force against the other kind. Puffing out his chest, Scorch, as defacto leader, called out to the hunched stranger with his back turned.

"Hey! Scav!" The shout echoed around the block. Everyone looked up briefly, with varying levels of interest. "What do you think you're doing here?" Gene made a tsk noise with his tongue, Ricky considered jogging over.

Scorch's sidekick, Rat, joined in, even after though the figure in the distance hadn't made a motion of response. "This ain't your side of town, Buzzard!"

Digging his elbow into the deputy's side, the quietest troublemaker, XZ, after observing some odd movements, asked: "What's it doin'?" Moving as a unit, the three teens stepped closer. The stranger's clothes were ripped- unusual for those living on the other side- and his hands, claws-out, seemed to be shoveling something hidden toward his mouth.

Despite his bravado, Scorch couldn't stop a shiver from wracking his body. The other kind were supposed to be harmless... right? His words tumbled from his mouth. "Almost looks like it's... eating something." It was XZ that noticed, tucked almost just beyond their view, a lifeless human-shaped mass. Gulping, he stumbled back.

"That's not a Scavvie."

"What?" The leader scoffed, still moving closer.

Slapping his friends on any body part his short arms could reach, XZ began to cry out. "Dude, move! Run! Get inside!" Rat understood first, and sprinted away in desperate abandon without another thought. His quick movements and the slamming of his feet on the asphalt attracted the attention of the street. Grabbing XZ's arm, Scorch wouldn't let him leave without explanation.

"What are you off on?"

Red-faced with fear the boy spat. "Haven't you seen the news?!" Down the street, Rat began to scream, warning everyone to get inside. The neighborhood was confused, slow to respond without knowing what they were running from. They were a tough group, after all- life had knocked them down and kicked them while they were there- what could make them afraid now?

Still closest to the danger, Scorch scoffed with another movie quote. "That crock of shit? Haven't been able to trust the news since the Fourth World War."

For his declaration he received a push in the chest. "Well fucking trust it now! That's a maneater." By now the balcony girls above were arguing whether or not to go inside. One refused to move from her vantage point, wanting to see everything.

The boy who started it all now had a blank look, edging on terror. "What?"

That was the last straw- XZ struggled free of his iron grip and shouted, hands thrown in the air. "A Cannibal Scav!" Now everyone heard with clarity, and jumped to their feet. They had seen the news, and if those idiots on the street had really seen one, they had to move.

Suddenly, the head in the distance turned- the boys could now see a gaunt face, with deep-set yellow eyes glaring through smeared blood and glinting white fangs extending beyond its mouth, dripping with acid. "It's heard us." XZ whimpered. "Shit. Fuck." Before the pair could react, the monster was careening toward them at an inhuman speed, maw hanging wide, ready for its next meal.

The last word either of them spoke was: "Run!"

Too many people had wasted their earlier time for escape, the poker players seemed glued to their chairs out of shock- Nicky and Micky had the good sense to book it, and their older brother wasn't far behind. In his reckless haste to get to the nearest door- Gramps'- Ricky knocked Jasper out of his seat.

Now lying on the porch, dazed, Jasper saw the demon creature rip the first two young men to shreds, their bodies exploding into an extravagant mess of blood a viscera. He gargled a high pitched scream- drawing it's attention- and in the second it took him to tumble off the deck and dive under its boards, the Feral was at the table and using its claws and teeth to devour his neighbors.

Through the cacophony of shrieks and tearing flesh, Jasper heard the thunderous sound of his own racing heartbeat in his ears. It was close, so close, even the weakest whine could bring those fangs down on him. He prayed through hot tears that Gramps would stay inside, wouldn't try to be the hero he knew he was. Then, the porch above fell into almost silence- the deed was done, his Grandfather's best friends were dead- but the thing stayed, Jasper could still hear its wet panting. Why wouldn't it go? In his mind he begged anyone, anything, to make it leave.

Finally, it began to move away; but as it took its last step off the deck and back toward the now-empty street, a drop of acid fell from its fangs, and through the floorboards- landing directly on Jasper's neck. He clamped his mouth shut and pressed down over his face with his hand, summoning every ounce of ten-year-old strength he had not to cry out as the acid burned a permanent mark into his skin.