Ash: Rise of the Republic by Campbell Paul Young

Author:Campbell Paul Young [Young, Campbell Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: texas, apocalypse, postapocalypse, geology, yellowstone eruption, supervolcano, volcanic ash, texas rangers, texas aggies
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

September, 0 PC (2015 AD)

*

“There existed a sharp dichotomy within the survivors; it was apparent even in the first few weeks. There were those who worked to rebuild, and those who worked to destroy.”

-Kristen Harrisburg, ‘The Grey Panic’; RNT University Press, 36 PC (2051 AD);

*

They didn’t bother following us. We lay trembling and exhausted in the bed of the truck for the first two miles, risking a glance over the tailgate every few minutes to check for the headlights which would betray a pursuit.

We stopped when we reached the first crossroad. An ashfall had begun at some point during the short fight. It was coming down thick now, a dusty blizzard. Deb and I walked up the line of vehicles, checking that everyone had some form of breathing protection and performing a quick head count. Close to thirty people were missing, I assumed either dead or dying at the hands of the Fellowship. When we returned, discouraged, to the truck at the back of the line, we found Mike and Clint leaning under the raised hood. The light from their flashlight reflected wildly off the fluttering ash. I approached as they pulled the cover off of the engine air intake. Mike pried the filter out, raising a cloud of fine ash. He shook it out and replaced it, shooting me a worried glance.

"We'd better check them all," I said in response, "Deb and I will keep watch back here. And tell Scott to stop every couple of miles. We need these trucks to last."

We turned right on the next highway and stopped at the first underpass we came to. The wide expanse of road decking had kept the ash from accumulating too thickly beneath it, but wind driven drifts had piled the stuff high on either side. The resulting cavern was barely wide enough for our convoy to squeeze in, but it provided much needed shelter from the intensifying ash storm. After emptying the trucks' air filters again, we gathered for a meeting at the side of the road. My surviving neighbors arranged themselves on the sloping concrete embankment there, the thin light of a small fluorescent lantern illuminating their weary, ashen faces. They looked like I felt. Adrenaline had left them now. They were drained; physically and mentally exhausted. Their eyes were downcast, struggling to balance the shame of losing their homes and friends with the relief that comes from narrowly escaping death.

I gave everyone a moment to reflect on the night's events, then began to speak, my voice reflecting back to me from the thick concrete pillars.

"I wish I could stand here and deliver a rousing speech. I wish I had words which could heal your pain and inspire you to keep going. The fact is, I don't know what to say. They beat us. They burned our homes and killed our friends. They're probably following us right now to finish the job.

"It's my fault. I let you all down; I got those people killed; I lost our home.

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