December 7, 1941 and Today

James M. Fitzgerald was on the USS Henley 74 years ago. The Henley was credited with shooting down the first Zero in WWII that morning and it was one of only three ships that made it out of the harbor. The Chief volunteered for subs upon his return to Pearl. He then spent three years on war patrol in the Pacific. One of the “boats” he served on as Chief Engineer was the famous USS Bowfin, now on display at the Pearl Harbor memorial in Hawaii. 

I never got to meet my grandfather, I heard about him all the time, and the great adventures he was on in the Pacific. He was one of those heroes you get to hear about, always want to meet, but somewhere in the deep immature mind of a child realize, you never really will get to. He's the guy who Americans want to idolize, a winner The American who when out numbered, on a crippled submarine, and ordered the submarine to head directly towards a Japanese battleship, and won. 

My grandfather, and thousands of troops like him, woke up on that infamous morning not expecting anything in particular. But as fate would have it, they were cast into the fray of a war that had consumed every corner of the globe. American boys would be sent to lands far away on two separate fronts, and it would take the American people a miserable and frightening 4 years before they would get to see their loved ones return, if they would get to see them return. The war would claim over 60 million lives by the time it would end in 1945.

Why do we remember Pearl Harbor? Pearl Harbor was a lonely military outpost on a chain of islands, the islands not a state for 21 more years. A military attack, a surprise, but no more than any other attack. An attack that seems so distant now, and overshadowed by our more recent history against new enemies striking at the heartland. 

We remember Pearl Harbor, because like the attack on the Twin Towers, life for America would be forever different. But there is something else we must always hold dear to the remembrance of  Pearl Harbor. America had been suffering, a great economic distress still plagued her, and despite the news of horrors from Europe, America could not motivate herself for a war on the behalf of a people on the other side of the world. But with a single event, America awoke. America rallied to her friends, and the economic giant took off. A military that was behind the technological curve boomed, industries were established with such sufficiency that massive bombers were turned out not in days, but in hours. A people who had no heart for anything beyond their door were now conserving and donating and pledging their lives to causes in two theaters of war. 

America made a decision, she could have recoiled, lifted the embargo she had placed on Japan, stopped supplying the Australians and British, and licked her wounds from a crippling naval defeat. But instead, America rose, there was no political correctness about calling the evils in Europe any more, and Americans set out to eradicate evil. 

Pearl Harbor is remembered for many reasons, but ultimately it is because no matter the generation, or how far separated the people may become of her government and political decisions, they are still Americans. There still beats the heart of the dragon that once arose, and could arise again, the heart of winners still beat. 

To be a Gentleman in the 21st Century

We have heard that chivalry is dead. Well, good, chivalry has nothing to do with being a gentleman and everything to do with being a knight. Last I checked, we weren't still lancing each other off of horses to prove points, we have tanks now for that. But what we can take from chivalry, is the expectation and ideal mannerisms of a knight. Of course, for our century this needs to be add to. 

So what makes a gentleman? Generally speaking, we can all identify men who are gentlemen, but not necessarily what all attributes to being a gentleman. Being polite is only the tip of the iceberg. We all know someone who is polite, but we wouldn't necessarily call them a gentleman.  

1. Treat everyone you meet with decency and respect. Sounds simple, and granted, we expect this. However, let's address that we are all humans and judge one another. You can try and claim you do not, but you would be lying to yourself. It is a healthy and natural way for us to prepare for situations, and sometimes we may be wrong, and that's why this is first. Decency is simply treating someone with dignity. And this is the source of our "golden rule" which I will not insult you by explaining, but instead remind you this is because no matter who you or they are, we all are facing the struggle of life. From this, we naturally show respect, in fact respect is within the definition of decency. Now do not confuse this with people earning your respect. In that regards each person is different, and few in life will earn your respect. Treating individuals with respect, regardless of situation, will always put you ahead in the situation. Life experiences will show you that the person who remains respectful in all situations, is often viewed in a better light, regardless of if the person is wrong or not.
2. Be knowledgeable, and be informed. Simply put, you cannot treat everyone with decency and respect if you are not somewhat knowledgeable and informed. We will encounter people of different beliefs and cultures. You do not need to conform to their culture or belief, but you should know how to interact with people. This is not to say you must know all the time of all people and cultures, but instead if you know you'll be in that situation you should make an effort to inform yourself and grow as a person in knowledge. The most common complaint, world wide, about tourists is the tourists' failure to learn even basic methods of communication. If you have ever been to a theme park, you will know how this can be extremely frustrating for both parties. But being knowledgeable is far greater than that. Growing in knowledge is self improvement. If you are ever stagnant in learning, you are wrong. This is not to say you must attend high levels of education. Not at all. Today's society is in an information dump, vast amount of information is available at your fingertips. Global events, science, culture, art, history, is all one click away.  
3. Associate yourself with those you wish to be associated with. Sounds simple and easy to skip over, right? You'd be surprised you are already violating this. Before I go any further in explaining this, I am not saying to leave a friend behind, a gentleman doesn't do that. But what a gentleman does do is always improve his surroundings, people included. We all have that one friend, he's not a bad guy, but he makes mistakes or has a reputation. This friend is known, and people see it immediately. When you are with him, you are associated with everything he does regardless of how you act or look. This is normal, this is society and it is a learned reaction which historically, has proven to be correct therefore, there is no reason for society to change this (remember the Subway guy?). So you can be the guy who influences your friends. Peer pressure is an amazing force. Not everyone will change, and it is those who refuse your help, or worse, influence you who must be turned away. 
4. Understand your woman represents you in many ways. This is almost exactly like associating yourself with those you wish to be associated with. The exception is this which is key, people know how you treat her in private no matter how private you think you are. Women talk, and they often will use a  hyperbole, but people will know. It is unfortunate that most of the men reading this know at least one woman who was abused physically by a man in their life. It is unfortunate that everyone reading this will know of a woman who had experience infidelity. A simple analogy to understand how we as gentlemen must act with our women is this, and it is regardless of the religious context: Eve came from Adam's rib, not from his feet to be subservient and walked upon, and not from his skull to be above and superior. She came from his rib to be equal, and to always be under his arm and protected.
5. Be honest, and at times, be blunt. Honesty is an amazing quality, and one I believe is better refined by age and experience. It is hard to admit you are wrong or made a mistake. That's fine, but make that effort, and people will appreciate this much more. Being blunt must be used sparingly. There are times when sugar coating a harsh reality does more damage than good. We don't like to hurt people, emotionally and that includes guys, your friends even if you don't want to admit it. Sometimes, you have to just say the truth as it is. As a gentleman they will appreciate it, and hopefully understand you are merely a messenger.  
6. Hold your word as sacred and your action as a legacy. This is extremely hard to do in today's society where we are multitasking and constantly on the go. But there is no reason to be. If you tell someone you will do something, ensure it is done, and ensure it is done at the time you state it will be done at. This ties in with honesty as well, if you must tell someone the occurrence of events or relay a message, ensure it is correct. What you say is the initial presentation of your character, first impressions are hard to break. Your actions, however; will define you and determine the height of your character.
7. Sculpt your mind, and your body. Again this is not to say you must attend high levels of education or spend hours in the gym. A gentleman however does take care of himself. Mind, body, and soul. Take care of what you put in your body, again the first presentation of yourself will be physical and you can help that by maintaining a natural, clean appearance. You should always strive to go into the public looking your best. The old saying, dress as if you are going to meet your future wife. Your mind is you and aside from always seeking new information as we discussed, you can change what will alter your mind. Remaining in a clear state of mind is preferred, not necessary, but the effects of alcohol and drugs on the brain are well known. I am not telling you to never partake (depending on the laws), but moderation is key. You should seek to expand your experiences as well, and a key part to sculpting your mind. I would say, do at least one really amazing thing you will always remember. Some skydive, some drag race, some serve in the military, some climb mountains, the options are endless. It makes you a better person, gives you life experiences, and makes you more interesting on a personal and intellectual level to converse with.
8. Your possessions do not define you, but they show your value. And no, I do not mean your monetary value. You do not need to own a nice car, house, or anything. But, what you do own, should be taken care of. We all know that guy who has a beat up car, and the car is always falling to pieces, and we start to wonder why he does not maintain it a little better. But, we also all know that guy who owns an old car, and never has an issue with it. If you own it, it is your responsibility to take care of it, and even more so, if you are responsible for it, you must do the same. Once again, this sounds like common sense, but can you think of someone who has an apartment that is a mess, maybe with damage that does not get repaired?  Of course you do, and that is because of the mentality that "it's not mine, so why bother?" Because it is your responsibility. We also know that guy who rents, and basically has a better bachelors pad than those of us who own. We idealize our elders who were able to maintain their equipment and property for decades for a reason. This all ties in with sculpt your mind and body and with an old Cavalry saying, "maintain your rifle, your horse, your stable, and yourself."
9.  Stand your ground, but admit your short falls. This goes hand in hand with honesty again. It is hard. We all have our opinions and our emotions and beliefs. The majority of the time, stand fast, hold your ground, stand for what you believe in with a passion. But, if the facts exist, admit you are wrong, consolidate, and come back better.

City of Ashes (Part 3)

Bryan's heart raced. Jerry's young and traumatized face poked out of the abused church. He saw Jerry dart back in, hiding from the people that pretended to be normal outside. Bryan jerked his head to Dan, and Dan's eyes narrowed, focused, sharp and attentive on the new objective.

"We need to get to him."

"I know. We need to get around to the other side of the church."

"I'll go around the left side, in the trees."

"We need to stay together, you lead."

Bryan stepped back and headed along the back of a solid stone building. He made sure to crawl under the window sill to avoid being spied by any occupants. Blood began to rush in Bryan's ears, or was it movement in the building he was hearing?

Bryan came to the edge of the corner. A pile of old fireplace wood sat chopped and covered in a fine coat of ash. Bryan leaned forward. Slowly. He tried to peer around the corner. His eye strained as it tried to see through the stone of the building with each creeping inch. Bryan strained, his eyes near popping out to peer around the corners themselves. The other side a bloody ax stood perched deep into a mangled heap of a former person. A single man stood above with his back turned. Large dark gloves and apron with splatters and specks of some long dried brown substance. The smell of copper heavy and thick able to be tasted with even the slightest inhales.

Bryan stayed low, and crept across the path to the next building's corner. The fear a wild beast pounding to escape his chest. But a push, a drive of a heaven only to be with his son once more, kept him moving.

The far left side was concealed by a building that ran its left, an old wooden structure. The wood sagged from moisture in locations. Knots revealed peep holes viewing grisly discovery in small ports by each passing.

Bryan looked back. Dan was crouched down behind him. Dan's face showed no more stress or anxiety than when they had met. The heavy drooping half-dollar rings around his eyes sagging and dragging the wrinkles out further. Dan's eyes were glass marbles, peering out onto the scenes of violence, but the reflections on those glassy balls caused no reaction to the adjoining body.

Bryan, however; felt as if his entire body was going to rattle itself apart. Grey streaks began to run along his face from the collection of ash on his brow. Tears of agony.

As Bryan rounded the next corner her froze. Another one of them stood before him, in a profile view. Covered in filth, the man stood, a light casting his shadow to Bryan's feet. Bryan remained tensed, unable to move to signal to Dan. The man stood, motionless. The solid slumping figure unwavering, and eyes unblinking. Finally, the man moved. He stepped forward, and out of view from Bryan.

"Keep moving." Dan whispered from around the corner, unaware of the terror that pumped in Bryan's veins. Bryan swallowed hard, something slumped down his throat, and he stepped off again moving around the buildings towards the back of the church.

The back of the church was fenced by a low stone wall. The duo hopped the stone wall with little effort. A single large wooded door provided the back entrance to the church where every Sunday had become more bleak. The back door's hinges sagged, weakened from a poor frame and heavy door. The burden of the door allowed the door to be pushed open easily.

The interior of the church was empty, the church had cleared out all belongings unlike the house from earlier. Empty candle holders protruded from the walls. Bryan stepped through first, steadily, but Dan pushed by. He walked without doubt down the hall. Bryan hurried along, attempting to be both quick and quiet on his feet, neither working.

Dan had stopped in the arch way into the next room. Bryan was only slightly separated, but the gap was an eternity to finish.

He didn't see the little body move towards him, but he noticed the bob of the hair. He didn't hear the grasp, but he felt the little restriction of a tight embrace. He didn't notice his own hands moving, but he felt the soft velvet like strands of hairs push between his fingers.

Bryan held Jerry tight against his chest. The empty pews from the church as silent audience in an empty room with ash that had filtered in to be their confetti. For a moment, to Bryan, all was right. There could be hundreds of the people outside, but they did not exist in this moment. Dan, did not exist within this moment. It was just Bryan and Jerry in a loving embrace with snowing ash.

"Are you ok?" Bryan asked still squeezing Jerry. He could feel him nodding rapidly and a small muffled yes escape.

Bryan looked over to Dan, a rustling catching his attention. Dan hadn't been moving. Bryan looked over Dan's shoulder. Dan gave a quizzical look. Dan turned to face the rustling.

From another section of the church a man arose from a doorway. Dirty sagging pants shuffled with his bear feet. A rusted ax in one hand. He turned, and saw them. He froze in a semi-crouch. His mouth hanging open, slack jawed. None moved, for an eternal second.

The man came full sprint towards them in silence. Bryan's eyes widened. A bright flash came with a roaring like a howitzer going off in the church. Another, and another! The charging brute lay face down. No blood poured out. Bryan shifted his gaze to Dan, who still held his pistol out.

From outside, somewhere near the walls of the church came a scream. The scream, blood curdling, and primal, a rage not heard since the great hunters vanished. The patter of sudden movement somewhere outside, and the rough entrance into the church rumbled in the air.

Dan rammed the pistol into Bryan's hands.

"Run, damn it." Dan spat out. He crouched down picking up the ax from the ground.

The first ones came bursting in from outside and along the path the other had come. Bryan jolted Jerry. Racing down the hall to the door he and Dan had entered. Looking back, only Dan's swinging shadow could be seen from where he last stood. His arms wide out, and his legs' shadows a single stilt, his body little more than single thick board in the dim shadow.

The two ran, haphazardly between trees and over low fences, tripping on rocks and roots. Behind them, the voices of pursuers, hunters. Bryan for once could focus, his son now with him, his soul purpose to ensure his escape. But over his own breaths, and heavy steps, the voices called for Jerry. The boy, they cried. Bring us the boy.

Bryan looked back. He couldn't see them yet. He could hear them. The forest they found themselves shook ash upon them, and moved the voices in circles around them.

Bryan looked at Jerry. Jerry's large doe eyes looked back in terror. Bryan looked up into the forest, and he saw his answer.

"Jerry, I need you to run, try and get to the truck."

"But Dad..."

"Goddamn it Jerry, fucking go!"

Jerry stared wide eye and him as he stumbled back. And Jerry turned, tears rubbing ash off him, and went off into the forest. Bryan shook, his first time swearing at his son.

Bryan waited. He saw the first one come, a locomotive of pain and chaos, making a line straight for him. Bryan raised the pistol. He had never shot at a person before. He shook. The pistol shook. The runner grew closer to him. He fired. He fired again. The runner dropped.

Another came speeding in. He fired, quickly, rapidly. To his left. Three shots. Another one came in. He fired twice more. Several more came up. He stared at his pistol, the slide locked back, the ejection port exposed. He stood, solid. His legs two vast trunks from the soft ash, boundless and bare, having made his final and only sacrifice.





 

City of Ashes (Part 2)

Bryan had never imagined he would be the type of person to run towards gunshots, yet here he was. It was the only thing he could think to do, to find someone who wasn't after him. He didn't even know why the people were after him, or why he had been attacked in the first place! He just wanted his son, to hold him again, and to leave this filthy abandoned town.

In the middle of the road laid, slumped on one side, a mass that was slowly being coated in a fine layer of ash. The gunshots had slowed. Bryan tried to peel his eyes off the dead man. He had never seen an actual dead person before. Not even at a wake. Something about it just felt, odd, it was like the man was still alive. Bryan expected the man to move, but he laid flat, not moving under the ash.

Bryan was near by an open market, or at least what use to be an open market. He heard another single gun shot and some voices from over a chain-link fence. Bushes obstructed a clear view. He moved closer pushing apart dead branches to peer in.

A single police officer stood with his back to a building. Old rotting kiosks surrounded him, a silent ghost audience. Several people approached the officer, carrying a random assortment of jagged rusting blades. A single man sprinted forward, the officer fired a shot. The man kept coming. Two more shots and the man stumbled forward. The others in the crowd rushed forward. The officer turned and ran. His pursuers close behind. The officer went into the nearest building, shutting the door behind him. The crowd pounded at the door with their hands and weapons. They began to spread out, moving around the building, around their trapped prey, cats getting a cornered mouse.

Bryan looked on the man the officer had shot. Slumped, silent like the other he had seen. And then a twitch. Bryan expected a call of pain. But the man lifted his arm up and planted his palm on the ground. Lifting up onto his knees, the man stood, stumbled, a drunkard having only taken a hard tumble. Then moved forward joining the crowd as if nothing had happened.  

Bryan had never seen a man shot before, just as he had never seen a body before. He had expected the bullets to shred the man, drop him with one shot, like a movie. At least not get up right after having been shot!

A deep whine blurted out. The heavy exhaust from a small motor. Bryan looked over. A fat man had started a chainsaw.

Bryan scrambled back away from the fence. He had to help the police officer. He stayed low enough to keep the bushes between him and the crowd's line of sight, it wasn't difficult, the bushes were thick and tall despite being dead in some patches.  In the back of the market and building the officer had gone in, there was a general store across a short alley. Bryan went around to the front of general store. The windows were smashed in.

Climbing in the store was mostly empty, racks that were left were empty, or turned over. A few loose items remained. There was a set of metal stairs that ran up one wall and led to a single floating office on the back wall. Bryan took the stairs up. There was the single office that was void of furniture and left with only pieces of board and piping as its décor. Its only inhabitants appeared to be ants that came from the single window sill.

Bryan lifted the window, cracking the aged glass with the force of lifting it up. Across the way Bryan could see the officer come into view. They stared at each other, the older officer soaked in sweat.

Bryan picked up one of the boards and began sliding it across the window sill. He hoped it would work. The officer saw what he was doing and opened his own window. Just as the board made it across to the other side resting near the officer, something pulled his attention away. Bryan couldn't see what it was.

They were in. The officer raised his firearm. The deafening pops were silenced with the bright flash of the muzzle. Bryan couldn't see them, only the office, and the officer's desperate look. The officer turned, up and out the window. The cop's worn shoes slipped under him on the worn creaking board. Bryan held on tight. The movement ramming splinters into his skin. The cop stepped into the office and Bryan pulled the board back in. A glass bottle smashed against the side of the building.

Bryan looked down, below a woman in a tattered worn yellow apron screamed in anger at him.

Bryan and the cop didn't need communication. Scared animals don't need to tell each other of their fear. The two bolted down the stairs and out of the general store.

The two took off straight down the street dead ahead. To Bryan's surprise, the older cop ran faster, and seemed to have a general idea of where he was going. Fine by him. Bryan would get them lost, and into another pack of those people anyways.

Bryan followed the cop down a side street, looking back to see their followers. There were none.

It was another block down the street, another neighborhood, before the cop looked back and realized they were alone, for awhile. He stopped running, as did Bryan.

"Right there." The cop motioned towards a nearby house, the door was open, and overall the house seemed somewhat in one piece.

Bryan let the cop go first. He entered with his pistol up. Bryan waited a moment, and followed. The cop continued searching the small house, with his back turned he spoke.

"Shut the door."

Bryan nodded, more to himself, than to the command's of the cop. He closed the door. The house still had some of its furnishing in it. He used a small nightstand to prop against the door. The lock seemed flimsy but he locked it regardless.

Bryan jumped. A man was there as he turned.

It was the cop.

"Thanks for that out there."

"Oh, y-yeah, of course."

"No one else is here. How did you get here?"

"I came, looking for my son."

"On foot?"

"No, I have, had a dirt bike." The cop grinned and shook his head.

"Come on, let's sit in the other room for a moment."

The living room still had its couch, it was covered in dust a small amount of ash which had blown in. There was also still a coffee table, loveseat, and random decorations on the fireplace mantle.

The cop plopped himself on the couch. A thick hoarse sigh came from his sweaty face. Bryan seated himself in the loveseat. He hadn't realized how much his muscles hated him until now.

"What's your name?"

"Bryan."

"Dan, Dan Harvey."

"How did you end up here Dan?"

"My partner and I do patrols around here periodically, we knew some kids got in with their dirt bikes some we came to get them out. Looks like it was just you."

"Actually, I came looking for my son, you didn't see him?"

"Son? Well, no we just heard the motor. Ran into them and haven't seen a sane person since."

"You think they're insane?"

"Well they sure as hell ain't your average town folks."

"I mean, I-I pushed one onto a spike, in defense, and he got off like it was nothing. And then I saw you shoot one, three times, and he got back up!"

"It's not that unusual."

"What?" Dan sat up, his age showing how exhausted he truly was.

"I've seen drug addicts break arms and wrists and not even flinch at it as they twist it to the point the skin breaks. Moving after being shot or pulling off a spike isn't all that amazing for someone doped up enough."

Bryan swallowed hard, Jerry was somewhere out there, with a bunch of drug crazed lunatics wandering around. Bryan sank deeper into the chair and despair.

There was a long silence that filled the void between them. Silent enough the hairs of a dog could be heard moving in a breeze.

"A large group is odd."

"What?" Bryan asked looking up at Dan.

"So many people doped up. If that's what it is. It does add a possible explanation." Dan pulled in a raspy gulp of air with the sound of aged exhaustion. "It was July when the dogs started going missing. Everyone began to suspect animals, then people started going missing."

Dan stood up, there was a creaking and Bryan wasn't sure if it was the couch or Dan's knees. Bryan tracked Dan as he walked to a boarded up window and looked out between one of the slots.

"And then one day there were no more disappearances." He turned back and went to the other window to peer out. "For a long while there was nothing else. I don't know if I just responded to more calls, but I suddenly found myself working on more suicides then ever before." Dan returned to the couch. "Responding to suicides is a taxing experience. My wife and I went out not long ago. We went off into the hills to take in the sights of the mountains. We came along a bridge, pulled over. We were parked next to a gorge and there are walking trails that lead up to it with no barriers. We were going to take a picture of the sight from the bridge. As we stood there, a woman walked up from one of the trails and by us. She offered to take a picture of us. We politely declined. She kept walking, to the end of the bridge, where she smoothly stepped off the edge into the gorge. It was so smooth, with no hesitation, it was like she was expecting the trail to keep going. And that sound, that sound, it sticks with you."

Bryan sat still, or frozen. The events of the day and the sudden calm demeanor along with Dan's story left him with nothing else to feel but a cold sweat.

"You, you think they are connected?"

"Hmm? The disappearances? Possibly. Town is only a few miles out. The woman, I, I really don't know."

"Well," Bryan tried to think what to say, "I'm sure your wife's fine."

"Oh she doesn't feel anything anymore, a collision took her from me."

"I-I'm sorry..."

"Don't be. We need to get moving though."

They both stood once more. Bryan's knees throbbed with a weak ache and knew it would get worse.

"How many rounds do you have left?"

"A single magazine, do you have a weapon?"

"No, hey don't you have a radio?"

Dan sighed. "This little one," he said nudging towards his shoulder radio "will only get line of sight. It's not made to get out of this area. I've tried before. I could in my patrol car."

"How far is that?"

"A bit away, we got cut off by another group that was trashing it when we tried to get away."

"Think it's worth a shot?"

"Yeah, as long as the bastards didn't destroy it."

The two proceeded out. This time, taking their exit out of the back. Dan didn't want to be seen on the streets in the open. Bryan agreed it was a sound decision. As the two crunched through dead grass and over another privacy fence, Bryan was lost in his skepticism.

He believed Dan had plenty of experience, an old beat-cop like him would. But Bryan couldn't buy into the people being drugged up enough to explain the things he had seen. Something seemed off, and his instinct, no something even more primal screamed every time he saw one of them.

"Look, there."

Bryan looked up to where Dan was pointing. Through the haze of the smoke and lit by the looming red sun, black smoke rose.

"Do you think it's a part of the coal fire?"

"No, smell that? It's chemicals, smells like tires." Bryan was afraid to admit he couldn't smell it. In fact everything smelled like smoke to him here. But he took Dan's word for it.

"You want to investigate it? What about your patrol car?"

"It's near that general direction, we would either have to pass by it, or go out of our way to go around. I want to know what it is."

Bryan followed in silence. He wondered if Jerry could see the smoke too, maybe he would head to it in hopes of help. Maybe it was Jerry, trying to signal someone. Bryan bit his tongue. That was a stupid thought. Jerry was a witty kid, he would figure out a way to get back to safety. Hell, he may even be at the truck now, wondering where his father was.

Bryan swallowed something fowl tasting. But it very well could be a worse story for Jerry, he could be a lot of danger, trapped without his father, or worse.

The duo continued down a dirt path, passing between a stone wall and rod iron fence. The gate was left open between both. The shrubs were dead, but the trees still grasped at life. Above a crow cried out. Just as Bryan saw the beady eyes of the bird it was off into the air. It's emaciated body disappearing off into the ash filled air beyond the tree tops. 

A single stone building came into view on ahead. As they approached, Dan slowed and his feet became lighter. There were more buildings they could make out among the trees, and the crackling of a large fire could be heard.

There was a wooden fence that collected ash, and once was used to keep animals within the property. Dan moved closer, moving into a crouch. Bryan copied, he also noted a two dead animals contained by the fence. Fresh animals, too eviscerated to identify.

There was a clearing in the center of several small buildings, perhaps used for houses, but nothing like the rest of the town. There were live, albeit thin chickens which clucked and moved about. Several people moved about, wandering, and different, them. In the center a post  stood, a large hook hung a figure through the left lung. The post still ablaze, tires burning putting out thick black smoke into the air. A car, a police patrol car, pushed in near by also ablaze.  A sickly smell drifted over the duo.

Bryan looked away. His throat restricting. His stomach rose. A liquid pushed in his throat. Bryan forced his muscles shut and looked up straining. The body's burning stench overpowered the smell of the tires, or mixed with it, and it burned at Bryan's eyes.

Beyond the burning alter, a church, with a caved in corner and two eyes looking right at them.     





  

City of Ashes (Part 1)

Bryan leaned against the front of hid dark truck. A haze caused a red casting in the sun above, the haze coming from an old fire that continued to burn miles away.

Bryan looked down at his watch and noted the time late in the evening. Jerry was expected back. Bryan and his 13 year old son Jerry used the surrounding hillside for dirt biking. Despite the large trees of the Washington hillside, it has enough trails to satisfy Bryan's adventure, and enough dips and turns to get Jerry's thrills out.

Bryan swiped ash off his truck as he made his way around to his parked dirt bike. Bryan only got to see Jerry one a month after the divorce. Jerry loved dirt biking, and Bryan wasn't a huge fan but enjoyed being outside and liked seeing his son happy. Usually they took the same trail while dirt biking, both because it was familiar and because Bryan wasn't nearly as good on the roads as Jerry was. Of course, things changed.

Today was different, earlier in the afternoon Jerry wanted to take a separate trail, Bryan didn't like the jumps and twists, but allowed Jerry to have fun exploring, being a kid, being a boy. But it was getting too late, and Bryan hated feeling like the over worried father, but he had his limits.

Cellphone reception was spotty to say the least on the hillside. Bryan and Jerry used short range Motorola radios which worked better, but were also very limited. Bryan attempted one more call over the radio before he started the bike.

"Jerry you there? Jerry if you hear me you gotta' start heading back." There was no response. There was a possibility that Jerry could hear him but wasn't able to get a signal out. More likely, Jerry was still riding and couldn't hear the radio over the sound of the engine and his helmet.

More ash fell from the sky. The hillside Bryan and Jerry used was located a few miles away from an abandoned town called Shepard's Heights. The town suffered from an accident where a coal mine caught fire in the late sixties. After a decade, the smoke got worse and parts of the town began to collapsed causing a few deaths. The governor stepped in with assistance from the Federal Government and forced the citizens to relocated. The properties were all condemned and taken by the government with eminent domain. There were a few elderly couples that fought the move and were allowed to stay under the provision that upon their deaths, the property would become government land, but the numbers were in the single digits now. The lack of meaningful oversight and enforcement allowed hikers, historians, and dirt bikers to use the lands around the town as long as they stayed out of the town itself. The town was fenced, and government vehicles periodically went there, but Bryan never paid any attention to them as they seldom crossed paths.

Bryan's stomach twisted, the idea that Jerry may have had an accident, but he pushed the knot aside. He hated to assume situations and find that he was simply causing himself more stress. But to think that maybe Jerry went to the town and had been caught was another all too realistic concern, especially knowing Jerry had a few problems in school following the divorce. Bryan wouldn't blame Jerry, but he hated that he saw his son act out at times. A shame that would burn in his cheeks. He wanted to teach Jerry to be humble, but at 13 it was like moving mountains.

Bryan kick started the Suzuki 125. It roared, and felt powerful in Bryan's hands. He had purchased twin bikes for himself and Jerry. He had thought the 125 may have been too big for Jerry, but Jerry proved to be more than capable.

Bryan pulled on his helmet and started off down the trail.

The fork in the road was about 3 miles Bryan guessed. It was rough which Bryan thought messed with is perception of how far he had gone. To the left was the route he had taken earlier, and the route he and Jerry usually took. It lead around and came out near the truck. A glimmer of relief came to Bryan, Jerry may have come back and then taken that route to the truck. It would add time to his ride and he may be at the truck waiting for him now. But parental instinct said otherwise, and he turned to the right route, the route Jerry had taken.

Bryan slowed, he couldn't handle the bumps and jumps like Jerry could. He even pulled up closer to the trees at times. 

Every twist and turn and every large root or small log he thought he'd be sent flying over his handlebars. He was looking for his son, not a broken wrist.

The trees began to clear out as the ground leveled. There was a clearing, with overgrown grass. Bryan came to a stop in the center. The grass came up to his knees as the sun beat down on his helmet. He saw the tree line across the field and the red warning signs indicating the condemned town ahead. The area was prone to random collapses from the underground fire.

Bryan knew that's where Jerry had to have gone, it's where he would have gone. He could see a perfect trail that Jerry would have taken on his dirt bike. The adventure of going to the town was too much for a 13 year old to resist.

Goddamn it, stupid kid, trying to get himself arrested or worse.

Bryan started off again down the trail, pulling back harder on the throttle moving faster with less care for his own safety and a growing concern for his son's. Bryan flew down the trail. Unlike the previous this trail was level and smooth with only weeds and minor branches on the ground. A single dip into the ground led him to the first obstruction in his path.

Ahead he could see a sign, as he approached he realized the sign was mounted on a chain-link fence. He would never had seen the fence in time to stop had it not been for the blaring white and red sign. Bryan slowed to the point he was walking his bike with an idle as he came within reading distance of the sign.

"WARNING: KEEP OUT, OPEN SHAFTS"

Not far off to the right of the sign where a post of the fence stood, was an area where the fence had been cut and lifted up. The opening was large and had probably been there for sometime. At least that meant that Jerry wasn't a vandal too. It was large enough for a man to walk under. 

Bryan had to get off his bike and walk it under the hole in the fence, but he could see tire tracks in the soft dirt where Jerry had gone. 

He was now within the city limits of Shepard's Heights. The dirt trail cleared out more and started heading uphill. Bryan followed his only option and started forward riding his bike once again.

The smoke grew thicker and ash fell like a heavy snow storm. The ground was soft and smashed easily under his tires. The trees began to look skinny and sickly, reaching up desperately for light like a man drying of thirst in a desert. 

It wasn't long before his wheels felt the firm hold of concrete under him, and the first neighborhood came into view. The houses were spaced out, and had thin coats of ash across the top. Bryan saw a person moving one of the yards of the third house down. He sped up thinking it may be Jerry, but quickly realized it was an adult. 

Bryan slowed his bike down knowing he had made a lot of noise. If it was a cop or some park ranger he was already in trouble, but maybe he could find his son faster. He realized the man ahead was wearing a plaid shirt, and jeans with suspenders. Certainly not any sort of official Bryan had ever seen before. 

Bryan recalled that some people were allowed to stay, generally elderly, but he thought by now there wouldn't be any left, and he certainly did not think they were within the town itself. He was under the impression that the people who stayed were on the outskirts, or the rural areas where the ash wasn't as bad and sudden collapses weren't as common. The idea that an older man would trespass seemed taboo too, but Bryan had encountered senile and borderline crazy older men so it too was possible. 

The man had gone inside just as Bryan reached the short fence that surrounded the front yard. The grass was brown and ash collected around in patches of dirt. The house was yellowed and in disrepair. The front door was missing and the windows were either smashed in or boarded up with graying two-by-fours. 

Bryan shut off his bike and removed his helmet. The man had gone inside without even paying the sound of the approaching motorcycle a second glance. Although he had glanced at Bryan coming. And that was the source of a chill in Bryan's back, not that Bryan had saw him, but that he had saw him looking. 

Setting his helmet aside on his bike Bryan moved forward, over the little fence towards the front door. The dark shadows casting out barely reluctant to creep out of their inner sanctum. Bryan slowed as he neared the doorway. His chest was tight, his stomach suddenly rotten. He couldn't explain the sudden desire to turn back, or why the man seemed so, surreal. His heart pounded and instinct screamed to leave. Had it not been for love, he had left long ago. 

But he knocked, meekly on the door frame.

"H-hello? Sir?"

There was a rustling somewhere in the darkness of the house. He waited, his throat growing tight. His eyes unable to pierce the darkness within the house.  

"Anyone?" He pleaded.

The rustling noise never stopped. Dry, like metal on rock.

Bryan swallowed hard, but a newly emerged lump would not go down.

Bryan took a step crossing the threshold into the unknown.

Squinting his eyes hard his eyes slowly began to focus, making only shapes out of the darkness. There was old furniture, a banister to a flight of stairs, and old wooden floor, and a glow from the next room. Not a white glow like from an electronic but a low yellow. The sound was louder, the metal on stone and wood.

Bryan crept closer to the next room. He could here a paddle of soft steps in-between the sound now. He swallowed hard once more, but to no avail. He turned the corner.

A dim flickering light made it difficult to see again. He could tell to the right of the room was a pile of refuge, large jagged objects protruded every which way. To the left he noticed a dark spot in the wall, another room where small slights of light were coming in from a boarded up window. Then the left wall of the room hand a small pile of what he assumed was coal. The man in his plaid shirt shoveled the coal into a fire place, but his actions only further suffocating the fire that was dying. The man had not turned to Bryan's presence, he continued shoveling small bits of coal into the dying fire.

"Um, excuse me sir, I am sorry to barge in on you, but I'm looking for my son."

The man stopped. Bryan swallowed hard, but the fear clogged his throat the again. The man turned and regarded Bryan for a moment over his shoulder and turned back to the fire place, uninterested in Bryan.

"He's a small boy, 13 years old..." he was lost as the man said nothing. "...sort of fragile shoulders." He said aloud more in memory of his son than in description.

"Sometimes fragile things are harder to break than they seem." A croak came from the man. Bryan had gotten lost staring down at the floor. He looked up in confusion to meet a blur.           

Bryan flung his arms up in a defense. A hard clang met his elbow and sent him stepping back from the pain. He stumbled, tripped, and landed on his butt.

The man swung the shovel again hitting the walls above Bryan. Bryan flinched down and kicked up. His heel striking the man's thighs. The man reared up with the shovel directly over his head, preparing to swing down. Bryan flailed in a panic, throwing his arms up to shield his face in a last attempt and kicking out once more.

His heels connected with the belly of the man and toppled him back. The added weight and position caused him too to trip and fall into the pile with a sickening splat and crack. There followed a silence.

Bryan hadn't even realized he was clenching his eyes shut. He opened them to a silence in the room, with his heart beating in his ears. He could see better than before now, and the room was filthy, something crusty and brown was on the floor , and dirt with rocks littered the corners.

He searched frantically for the man. He searched so hard he overlooked him twice. And there, before hi he stood slightly erect, slouching and not moving. Through the man's back, and out his stomach stood a broken pipe that had been protruding from the refuse.

Bryan swallowed hard again. A gummy feeling over took his mouth and throat. He waited. He waited longer for the man to move. He had never killed anyone before. It was then that Bryan became acutely aware of a noise from outside. A running motor.

He stood and went to the adjoining room where he peeped out of the slots created by the blocked window. Outside was an old truck still running, it had crashed into his dirt bike. There were three men outside as well. They were throwing parts of his bike around in the air scattering them, one stood off to the side with a torch.

"What the fuck." Bryan whispered. His heart raced again. He had to get out. He headed back into the room and stopped.

Bryan's blood ran cold. The room was as he had left it. But the man was missing.

There was no one in the room with Bryan, dead or alive.

He took several steps out and saw no one around the corner. He moved further, and no one in the hall. He edged around the corner, and saw the man in plaid. His back was to Bryan, he was walking away, outside towards the other men, as if the wound inflict caused him no pain.

Bryan's eyes widened, his lips trembled which he stop by biting them and holding them in place. He looked around for another viable exit. The next door was boarded up, he couldn't go outside, so he had to go upstairs.

At the top there were several doors that lined the narrow hallways. Bryan took the right and nearest door. Throwing the door open he saw a small double bed against the wall which he passed. Atop it was a small, curled up, wet mass. He didn't stop to look at it, to acknowledge what it really was or wasn't. There was a single window, it too had the glass smashed in. The glass lay in bit on the carpet which was hard and crunchy under Bryan's steps.

Bryan climbed out of the window onto the slick and loose shingles of the roof. He could hear the men inside the house now. An inarticulate scream of rage came from downstairs. Bryan hurried his short steps. He came to the edge. He squatted down and began to lower himself down. His hands gripping the gutter tightly. As his legs dangled, he dropped, with a thud.

Bryan pushed off the ground, tall weeds grew where grass had long died. Bryan ran to the fence, passing a small child's swing. The fence was low enough he could easily toss his body up and over the fence.

Bryan found himself in a single one way road with fences on both sides and left over metal trash cans lining the once occupied area.

Bryan ran. He ran as fast as he could, pumping his legs, pumping until his veins pumped glass.

Bryan stopped, his heart burned. He realized he did not know where he was, or where to go from here. He looked back behind him, and no one followed. 

 

In the thin air, the falling ash almost concealed a crackling pop. Bryan's ears perked up. In rapid succession, but controlled and spaced, the pops continued in the distance. In a daze Bryan squinted his eyes in the direction he believed the noise to be coming from. The loud snaps in the air familiar yet so foreign suddenly. Fireworks? Why where there fireworks?

 

And then, Bryan realized his own stupidity.

 

They were gunshots.