A Story of Cinders: From the Ashes

Chapter 42: The End of Illusion

"You think the other two finished him off?" Charlie asks, taking time to reload his guns.

"I don't doubt it," John says, twisting the keys in the ignition. The engine turns over.

"Weird. We won. This should feel different."

"Different how?" The engine turns over again, before finally roaring to life. John stomps on the accelerator.

"We should be happy. We should be celebrating. Instead, I just feel robbed. This all just feels so... hollow and sour."

"Medical emergencies tend to overshadow these things. We can celebrate when we're in the clear. That is, unless you wanna keep brooding. By the way, what's that been all about?"

"Can we not right now?" Charlie says, looking at the trucks advancing on them in the mirror. Charlie leans out the window with his Galil in his hands, shooting at the cars behind them. He aims for the tires and drivers, praying they won't start shooting at the two in the back. He hits one truck's front tire. The rubber flies off into the air, never to be seen again. The truck sags forward into the damaged tire. With nothing to stop its momentum, it veers to the side, colliding with a building. Charlie grimaces, hoping the building was vacant. He ducks back into the cab to reload, and lights a cigarette. John turns a hard corner left. Charlie bangs against the door. "Watch the turns, damnit!" Red calls from the back.

"Sorry!" John yells back. "We're almost there." Sure enough, several blocks down, the craft sits idly. Charlie peeks out of the window again. As he locks eyes with the driver of the vehicle behind them, he watches their passenger lean out the window like Charlie. But his gun had a little more power. This passenger is clutching an RPG, or rocket propelled grenade. His eyes widen in fear, as he curses aloud. He sees a puff of smoke plume from the tail end of the rocket launcher. Quickly, he ducks back into the car, watching the projectile whiz by his head. It misses the car. But Charlie doubts that's where they were aiming. If they were trying to take out the truck, they would have aimed for the center, or toward the bottom, trying to hit underneath so the shrapnel would shred the undersides.

Charlie's eyes dart forward as he turns his head to the windshield, watching his suspicions be confirmed. The RPG, which had gone past Charlie's face and onward, finally stops as it collides with the craft. There is a burst of fire and a plume of smoke. The glass on the cockpit shatters outward as a tongue of flame erupts from the windshield, licking the ashy air. The near wing crumbles off the body, and dozens of bolts and rivets fly out like the glass. The wing buries itself in the ashen ground, casting the gray powder into the air.

"Son of a bitch!" Charlie screams. He leans back out the window, laying a rapid stream of fire at the RPG-toting soldier. He strikes the soldier in the gut and neck. They tumble out the window of the vehicle. John swerves around the smoldering wreckage of their escape, laying his eyes on his next destination. As he swerves, Charlie wildly flails out the side of the window. He grabs the side of the window, yelling at John to watch where he's going. As he's looking back in the cab, he doesn't see the third soldier crawl into the passenger seat. Or peak out the window with their rifle and open fire.

Suddenly, he feels something strike his left shoulder. A hard impact, followed by intense burning. Like someone had taken a burning coal and drove it into his shoulder with a baseball bat. It hits him so suddenly that he almost drops his rifle. His cigarette falls out of his mouth, and is buried underneath the tires of the pursuit vehicle. He had just been shot. He flinches forward, clutching his shoulder with his right hand, and responds with a haphazard spray. He holds the trigger until the gun stops shooting and starts clicking. Then he ducks back into the cab, dropping the rifle inside. He looks at his hand. His palm is bloody. "Fuckers got me," he mumbled, taking a pull of whiskey. John turns his head and opens his mouth to speak, but Charlie stops him. "Keep your eyes on the road. It's just the shoulder. Again. Always the shoulder with these jackasses." With his good hand, he bangs on the back wall of the cab. "Red, you wanna help, or are ya just gonna sit there with your thumb up your ass?" he yells.

"I don't know, why don't you tell me what I should do?" she yells back.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now? Can we not do this?" He feels around for another magazine for his rifle. They're all empty. "Just start shooting, Red!" John shouts at her.

Red peeks out of the canvas curtain, gripping her TEC-9. She eyes the driver of the truck. There's only one more in pursuit right now, but there's definitely going to be more joining later. The driver picks up a radio, and begins speaking into it. She sprays into the windshield, watching the driver's head fall dumbly onto the steering wheel. The vehicle slowed to a halt. As Red watched the vehicle fade into the background, she saw the wreckage of the craft behind them.

"John, where are we going?" She asked him through the wall. "Because our craft is in flames."

"Actually, yeah," Charlie added, disliking that he was agreeing with Red. "Where are you taking us?" John points ahead at the burned city in the distance.

"There." John said. "We can hide in that Ground Zero."

Charlie felt his heart skip a beat. "No. We're not. Those ruins are gonna fall on top of us."

"I thought you didn't have a problem going through these," John retorted.

"I do with this one."

"If you don't wanna go, you can jump out, then. But I'm not stopping or slowing down for you." Charlie opened the door of the truck.

"You big fucking baby!" Red yelled from the back. "Are you seriously gonna jump out of this car so you don't have to go somewhere spooky? Why don't you swallow your fucking pride and go with us, or it's gonna be all of our asses!"

"There's gotta be somewhere else we can fucking hide!" Charlie screamed over the rushing winds.

"Well there isn't! We don't have a choice!" John shouted back at him. "Now jump or close that fucking door, because it's getting cold in here!" Charlie stares at the ground flying by him. For a second, he contemplates jumping. It can't hurt that badly. The ash might make for a fairly soft landing. He'd head southeast through the Ashlands until he ran into a town. Go back to his old life. Before he got dragged into all this shit. But it was late autumn in the Northwest. He would freeze to death in the wasteland before he ever could even see the next town. And he knew he wouldn't be heading southeast. He would be drawn to what lies north, whether he wanted to or not.

Better to go there with company than injured and alone.

He shut the door of the truck and took his seat again. "Good choice," John said.

"Yeah, whatever," Charlie said resigned. He sighed heavily, watching the scar of the old world grow ominously closer. His hands and breath were trembling. John noticed. "You gonna tell me what your problem is?" John asked.

"No," Charlie replied bluntly. He took another long pull of whiskey. "Don't ask me again."

Silence.