A Land of Ash

SHELTER by David Dalglish

Jason pushed aside the curtains to watch as the rumbling clouds neared. Melissa squirmed in his arms.

“Daddy, I’m scared,” she said.

“We all are,” he told her. “Sit still. This’ll be pretty, I promise.”

“I want to watch Spongebob,” Melissa insisted.

“Not now,” Jason said, his eyes wide as the sky suddenly cleared. Calm red sky shone above, clean, ominous. Then it was gone, a rolling black wall of cloud and ash sweeping over it.

“Daddy, Spongebob!”

Jason kissed the top of her head, wondering if she felt his tears dripping down. He’d give anything to send her to that underwater paradise forever. Instead, he had only his arms, his walls, and his love to offer. The house shook as wind slammed against it. The darkness deepened, broken only by thick bursts of lightning.

“Is it going to rain?” Melissa asked.

“No, sweetie,” he said. “Not now.”

Not ever.

It’d taken six rolls of duct tape, but Jason was confident he’d sealed the building. Every side of every window he’d layered. After locking and barring his front door, he’d stuffed old shirts into the crack below, then started taping. He lived in a modular home on his property not too far out of town. He thanked god it was fairly new. Last summer he’d looked at a two-story fixer-upper in the middle of town. The extra room would have been nice, but there’d been so many windows needing fixed, walls painted, and floors retiled that he’d passed. Sitting against the front door, a half-used roll of duct tape in hand, Jason couldn’t imagine trying to seal that old place up.

Melissa sat on the couch, huddled under a mountain of pink princess blankets.

“Can we have candles?” she asked. “The dark is scary.”

“We can’t, babe,” Jason said. “Air is precious now.”

“When will the lights come back on?”

Jason sighed. He debated whether to lie or tell the truth. Biting down on his lower lip, he told the lie. In the darkness, unable to see her wide eyes, it came easy.

“In a week or two. We’ll rough it until then. We’re like pioneers. You read about pioneers in school, right?”

“They lived in dirt houses,” Melissa said. “How’d they keep the bugs out?”

“They didn’t,” Jason said. “The bugs were their friends. They named them and built them little houses to live in beside their cabinets.”

“Daddy!”

“What? They didn’t teach you that in school?”

Jason smiled when he heard her laugh. Thank God for small miracles.

“Tell you what,” he said. “You be a good girl and stay on the couch, and I’ll get us a flashlight.”

“Okay,” she said, her voice muffled by the blankets.

Jason stretched out his arms and took baby steps toward the kitchen, feeling like a blind Frankenstein. Vague blobs grew in the darkness, outlines of the sink or the fridge. He stubbed his toe on a toy, something plastic with wheels. It rolled into kitchen, the sound grating. Without the television, air conditioners, his computer, cars outside, planes above, and water heater below, the resulting quiet was shocking. Sometimes the wind picked up, whipping against the side of his house. Other times the clouds grumbled in angry thunder. But mostly there was silence.

“You okay, dad?” Melissa asked him, sounding so far away.

“I’m fine,” he said. “When the lights come on, you’re cleaning up your toys.”

She didn’t respond, and inwardly he cursed himself. Why’d he have to remind her of what they didn’t have?

His hand brushed the counter. He used it to guide himself along until reaching a drawer he’d purposefully left open. Inside was a handful of flashlights. He grabbed one of the smaller ones and clicked it on. The white microwave shone into view for half a second before he shut it back off. Tempting as it was, he kept it off on his way back to the couch.

“Where you at?” he asked when he felt his toes bump the couch’s edge. “Come on, let’s see, where you hiding?”

He waved his arms around him blindly, and when his fingers brushed blanket, he dove them forward, his fingers tickling. Giggles rewarded his efforts.

“St-stop!” Melissa shouted.

Jason plopped down next to her. He felt her slide closer, her head pressed against his chest.

“You got the flashlight?” she asked.

In answer he aimed it at her face and flicked it twice.

“Dad!” she grumbled, elbowing him. Jason chuckled, then flipped it around in his hand.

“So you still scared?” he asked her.

“A little,” she said.

“Of what? Are there monsters?”

Melissa snorted, as if she were insulted. She was six: way too old to be believing in monsters. It was ghosts she was afraid of.

“I think there’s something in the corner,” she said.

“Which corner?”

“That corner.”

Jason waited a moment.

“Dear, are you pointing?”

Melissa giggled.

“Maybe.”

Jason aimed the flashlight and flicked it on for a half-second, revealing their coat rack.

“No monsters there,” he said.

“Not there!”

He switched places, flicking the light off and on as he continued his elusive search.

“Any monsters there? How about there? Oops, none there, either. What are we looking for again?”

Melissa’s tiny fingers jabbed into his sides and under his arms. Jason laughed, swinging the flashlight down so he could see her face. She smiled up at him, wincing at the bright light. Her hair was a dark mess, wet strands clinging to her cheeks. She was smiling, but it was fragile and trembling. A dammed ocean of tears swirled within her. Come bedtime, he knew she’d let them loose.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, letting the light linger so he could burn the image into his mind. “I’ll be beating the boys away with a stick when you hit high school.”

He flicked off the light. Melissa sniffled, so he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

“Is mom alright?” she asked after their silence stretched for several minutes.

Jason thought of his ex-wife’s phone call. Karen had been at the office when the news hit.

“It’s only an hour drive,” she’d insisted. “I’ll be back in time, alright? Just please, don’t go anywhere. Promise me, Jason.”

“I won’t,” he’d said.

“Promise.”

“Alright, I promise.”

The drive from her office to his house normally took an hour, but Jason imagined the frantic drivers, the wrecks, the police squads and rioters. When the clouds hit, she’d most likely been in her car, her windows flimsy protection against the tiny granules of ash that poured into her lungs, solidified, and killed her.

Jason kissed Melissa’s fingers.

“She’s fine,” he said. “She’s just late in joining us.”

Thunder rolled.

“She’s with God in heaven, isn’t she?” Melissa asked.

Jason’s eyes ran with tears. He felt his lower lip tremble. He clutched his daughter to his chest and fought the trembling of his voice.

“I hope so,” he told her. “I really do.”

Melissa broke, same as he. In the darkness they cried.

Once Melissa was asleep, Jason shifted her to the side and stood. He flicked on the flashlight, wincing at its brightness. Knowing there was nothing so important as this, he calmly and patiently checked the tape. In the thin stream of light, any ash sneaking through would be readily visible. He saw none at the door, nor his bathroom window.

The kitchen had a tiny bit puffing in on one side. An extra layer of duct tape put an end to that. The back door had a bit more coming in, and he smelled the distinct odor of sulfur. Jason used two layers on that one, then sat and watched. Bits of everyday household dust floated before him, but no more ash pushed through the cracks. He wiped a bit of cold sweat from his forehead and continued.

When finished, Jason was satisfied. A little bit of ash might still be filtering in, but nowhere near enough to cause them any immediate danger. It might give him cancer twenty years down the road, but hell, he’d accept the compromise.

In his living room, just beside his computer desk, was a giant window facing west. Jason pulled back the curtain. Outside he saw only darkness. He pressed his fingers to the glass, shocked by the cold. Summer was in mid-swing, but sweltering heat waves were years from returning. He wished he’d bought a gas generator like he’d always wanted to. Too late now. Everything was too late.

He shone his light through the window and stared. Even though he was wasting batteries, he couldn’t make himself shut it off.

“Is it snowing?” he heard Melissa ask from the couch. Jason startled at the sound of her voice.

“It is,” he said. “But it’s warm snow. You wouldn’t like it.”

“Doesn’t feel warm,” Melissa said. “It’s cold in here.”

“Stay under the blankets,” he told her. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

Thick flakes of ash fell through his beam of light, drifting lazily downward. Everything he saw was covered in a thin layer of gray and white. The sight was oddly beautiful. He felt a bit uneasy watching it fall. It was too gray, he decided. It lacked the purity of snow. More worrisome was the way it covered the ground. Every blade of grass, every flower, lay crumpled flat by the weight. A heavy snow. A killing snow.

He shut off the flashlight.

Jason’s watch claimed it was half past nine, but still the outside remained dark. Slowly he rubbed his eyes and tried to convince his body daytime had arrived. Melissa had awoken every couple of hours throughout the night, crying hysterically and asking for her mother. The first few times Jason had whispered to her, telling stories and zapping monsters with his flashlight. The final time he’d simply held her and silently cried.

“You hungry?” he asked as he pushed the blankets off and stood.

“I guess,” Melissa said.

He didn’t turn on the flashlight until he reached the kitchen. Opening and closing cabinet doors, he looked for what might go bad first. The most obvious was the cereal, sickly sweet and coated with sugar. He poured two great bowls and opened the refrigerator. He yanked out the milk, hoping to keep in the cold for as long as possible. Food coloring from the marshmallows swirled the milk red and pink as Jason poured. Popping on the lid, he flung it back into the fridge, closed it with his hip, and then plopped two spoons into the bowls.

“Soup’s up,” he said, his voice muffled by the flashlight in his teeth. He carried a bowl in each hand. By the time he set them down upon the table, his jaw ached. Flicking the flashlight about, he shone it near Melissa’s bowl until she sat down before it. With a click, he shut it off.

“I can’t see,” she whined.

“You can eat cereal in the dark,” he said. “Not rocket science.”

“You would say that,” Melissa muttered.

The cereal was far from his favorite, but Jason ate every bit. His search through the cabinets hadn’t been very hopeful. Much of what he had, things like macaroni, spaghetti, and noodles, needed boiled. Thankfully he had cans of soup, which would help a ton. There was plenty of juice and soda in his fridge, which would last far longer than the milk. He’d tried the faucet only once, and the gray smudge that spurted out was certainly nothing he planned on drinking.

Milk dribbling down his chin, Jason wiped it with his arm and then let out a weak burp. A few moments later, Melissa responded in kind. Her giggles were far brighter in their gray world than any flashlight.

Above them, the roof creaked.

Jason told stories to pass the time.

“One day, papa bunny left the rabbit hole in search of a carrot,” he said. Melissa sat curled beside him, shivering under the blankets. Every hint of summer had bled out through the walls. Frost lined the inside of the windows, ash the outside.

“A big carrot?” asked Melissa.

“Biggest there ever was. And he knew where to get it, too. Old farmer Rick had this prize carrot, but he guarded it with dogs and an electric fence. But papa bunny really wanted that carrot for mama bunny. It’d feed them through the winter. Such a carrot was a dream come true. So every day he went to the garden, testing fences, racing the dogs. Every day he came back tired and worn, but still no carrot.”

“This is a sad story,” Melissa said.

“Sometimes stories are sad,” Jason said.

He stared at where the television hid in the darkness, thinking how much easier it had once made their lives. His daughter squirmed beside him.

“Well, what happened?” she asked.

“Papa bunny finally figured out a way to get that carrot. He outran the dogs. He outsmarted the farmer. He dug that carrot up and ran home, dragging it by its leafy top. But mama bunny wasn’t there. Papa bunny had been gone so long, she forgot who he was and wandered off. The carrot was so big, papa bunny couldn’t eat it by himself. It rotted, and it stank, and he couldn’t clean the smell out of the walls. So he left their rabbit hole forever. The end.”

“Is that what happened to you and mom?” Melissa asked.

He kissed her forehead.

“It’s just a story, sweetheart,” he told her.

Lunch was another bowl of cereal. For dinner, Jason pulled out a bag of frozen meatballs and let them thaw on the counter. After a couple of hours, they were soft enough to eat.

“Just imagine them surrounded with spaghetti,” Jason said. “All slippery and warm.”

“I hate spaghetti.”

“Spaghetti hates you too,” he said.

They slept together on the couch, their bellies full. Jason had chased what little thirst they had with a few sips of soda. Things were going to get worse, but at least they had plenty to eat while things were roughest outside. All throughout the night, the ceiling cracked and groaned.

Come the morning, Jason pulled back the giant curtain in the living room.

“Hot damn!” he shouted, an idiot smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Melissa stirred and rubbed her eyes. Without a flashlight, he saw her do so, and he laughed again. Pouring in through the window was a dim gray light. Starlight was brighter, but compared to the thick cave-like darkness, nothing could have been more beautiful. Melissa joined her father’s side and took his hand. Together, they looked out upon the lawn.

The ash still fell, a death snow killing every blade of grass, smothering every flower, and coating every vehicle. Jason guessed at least two inches, if not more. The wind picked up, and the air clogged with thin, sand-like gusts of ash.

“Can we go out and play?” Melissa asked.

“It still isn’t safe,” Jason said. “Once it stops…snowing, we can try to get out. We’ll wear masks over our face, like ski masks. You know when your grandma smokes, and it smells bad and hurts to breathe in? It’s like that out there, just worse.”

“Nothing’s worse than grandma’s smokes,” Melissa insisted. “Except maybe Mark’s breath. It smells like boogers.”

Jason laughed on instinct. His heart wasn’t in it. Most likely grandma was dead. He’d tried not to think about it, but he saw little hope. Would anyone stay with the elderly in a nursing home after hearing the news? Perhaps a few would. He wanted to think that. But he knew otherwise. Hell, even that Mark kid was probably gone, packed into a car and driven east in a frantic bid for safety.

“I’m sure Mark’s breath is bad,” he said, turning and coughing to hide his wipe at his eyes. “Still, out there is worse. That’s why we’re staying inside. We’re safe here. We have shelter.”

Jason went through and opened all the curtains. He knew what little heat they had would escape faster, but right then it seemed light was more crucial to life than warmth. Just in case, he threw on another sweater and zipped Melissa up in a jacket. They ate the last of the cereal, then scrounged around for some games. Jason pushed aside his computer desk so they had plenty of room to play by the window.

“Your computer,” Melissa said as it toppled over. “Don’t you need it?”

Jason only laughed.

They played checkers, Candyland, and a Spongebob game whose rules Melissa seemed to understand more than Jason did. They moved around markers, bumped into each other, took turns tickling one another, and then finally finished with a great roaring campfire song. Melissa giggled in his arms. She noticed the puffs of white every time she exhaled, so she put two fingers to her mouth and then blew.

“Look, I’m granny,” she said.

A loud crack startled them both. Jason lurched to the window, wiping at the frost in hopes of seeing what made the noise. It didn’t matter. The ash was too thick on the other side.

“What happened?” Melissa asked.

“It sounded like glass,” Jason said. “I’m not sure what.”

“Can you go look?” she asked.

Jason shook his head, then thumped it against the glass. A bit of the ash fell. Rolling his eyes, Jason slapped his hand against the glass, scattering more of the ash. He saw the cause immediately. The back window of his car had collapsed inward, thick ash pouring into the back seat. He bit his lip, wondering if maybe a large rock from the eruption had struck his car.

No, he thought, shaking his head. That was dumb. He knew what had happened. He’d just hoped otherwise. The ash was rock, thin rock, but rock nonetheless. Once it settled, it was like concrete, and two inches was more than enough to slowly crack and break the glass.

“What was it?” Melissa asked. She joined his side and looked out at the land of ash. “Someone throw a rock?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Come on. Let’s have a rematch at that checkers game. I think you cheated.”

“Did NOT,” she insisted.

He stole one last glance outside before sitting down. Trees lined the edge of his property, their branches hung low as if bowing in deference to the darkened sky.

Jason awoke to the sound of screeching metal. He rolled off the couch, banging his elbow on the table and scattering checker pieces. Melissa startled, her blankets pulled about her, her cry piercing the darkness.

“Shit,” said Jason as he clutched his elbow and sucked in his breath. He fumbled about for the flashlight. From the far side of the house, metal shrieked again, coupled with a sudden roaring of wind.

“Daddy, I’m scared, make it stop!” cried Melissa.

Jason felt the touch of plastic and curled his fingers about it. As the light flicked on, he aimed it toward the door.

“It’s alright, babe,” he said. “Daddy’s going to see what the matter is, all right?”

“What’s going on?” she asked. The sound of metal died down, but the wind remained.

“Something happened in my bedroom. You stay here and be a brave girl, okay?”

As he stepped into the kitchen, the light of his flashlight aimed toward his bedroom door, he heard Melissa sob. Feeling like an idiot, he retrieved a second flashlight from a drawer and brought it to her. He clicked it on and shone it at her hands.

“No monsters can survive a flashlight’s touch,” he told her, kissing her forehead.

“Or ghosts?”

“Not ghosts, either.”

She hugged the flashlight to her chest and looked at him, trying so hard to be brave.

“Okay. I’m all right now, dad.”

He smiled even as his heart pounded in his chest. He’d seen the bedroom door for just a brief moment, but there was no mistaking the streams of ash billowing in through the cracks. Grabbing a roll of duct tape, he went back into the kitchen. Pausing before the door, his hand on the knob, he closed his eyes and prayed.

Please, God, don’t be what I think it is. Anything but that.

He shoved open the door. He looked inside. He closed the door.

“Fuck you, God,” he said.

Jason layered all four sides with duct tape, using an entire roll. The whole while, he coughed and punched the wood. He knew he must be scaring Melissa, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered. The ceiling had collapsed, broken under the weight of the heavy ash. His fists pounded the door, and he flung the empty roll toward the overflowing trash bin. As he sobbed, he saw a beam of light from the living room circling about. Wiping his face, he followed it, feeling like a lost ship tracking a lighthouse.

Navigating the rocky course of toys, game boards, and table, Jason fell to his knees and wrapped Melissa in his arms. He felt her pat his head as if he were one of her dolls.

“You okay, daddy?” she asked. “You okay?”

He held her tighter.

“Don’t we need to save food?” she asked. Jason only smiled. He’d cracked open a can of ravioli, the sauce thick and cold. They took turns dipping in their spoons and slurping the stuff down. The living room had taken on a gray hue from the dim light piercing the windows.

“Think Spongebob has room for us in his pineapple?” he asked her.

“Stop being silly.”

Outside, glass shattered, coupled with a sound of bending metal. Melissa jumped.

“What was that?” she asked.

“Just the car,” Jason said, dipping his spoon into the can and scooping out the bottom. “Just the dumb old car. You packed?”

Melissa nodded.

“I have everything,” she said.

“Let me see.”

Beside her lay a pink backpack she’d taken with her to first grade. He unzipped it and reached in his hand. He pulled out a Barbie doll, the checkerboard and its pieces, a box of cookies, two flashlights, and a teddy bear.

“Yup,” Jason said, kissing her nose. “That’s everything.”

They both wore layers of shirts and pants, plus ski caps and winter coats. Jason hoisted his own backpack, filled with food, flashlights, bottles of water, and a gun. He set it down on the couch and went to the kitchen, returning holding several washcloths.

“Now this is very important,” Jason said. “Probably the most important thing ever, alright? You keep this across your face at all times, and never breathe through anything other than the cloth. You understand, sweetie?”

“Yeah.”

He tied a yellow cloth around her face, double-knotting it behind her head. When he stood, she looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with wonder. While she watched, he tied one around his own face.

“We’re going out there, aren’t we?” Melissa asked. “Into the warm snow?”

Jason chuckled.

“We are.”

He ripped the tape off the sides of the front door, curling it up into a giant sticky wad. Once enough was gone, he grabbed the door knob and pulled. Biting air swirled in, angry in its cold. Ash stung their eyes, and already Jason fought a cough.

“You ready?” he asked. Melissa nodded.

Hand in hand, they abandoned their shelter.