Ames: Black Ash

The sun shines on a valley filled with green pastures and fields full of wildflowers. Birds fly against white puffy clouds, their eyes darting across the lush landscape in search for their wriggly, delicious lunch. Wild rabbits dart between stalks of tall grass, freezing at the slightest snap or crack, hoping to escape the salivating jaws of the prowling fox. Frogs croak and dragonflies buzz around the cool pond nestled between the valley and a forest of oaks. Beyond these trees cows grazed green pastures, chewing up all the nutritious grass that was left inside the long sunken wooden fences. Overlooking the pasture was a small red barn, just the right size to give the cows a cozy place to sleep when the sun sank and stars rose in the sky. The farm was a few hops away from its friend, a farmhouse so old that the pioneers would have mistaken it for a part of terrain.

The farmhouse was quiet at this time of day, the farmer snoozing away in his rocking chair, a glass of lemonade with melted ice cubes and a crumpled newspaper sitting on a table next to him. That is, until something would fly up his nose and disturb his sleep. The man snorted, shooting the foreign object clear across the pasture. The farmer gave a big stretch, smacking his lips and rubbing crust off his eyes as he pulled his trucker cap off his face. He rocked himself out of the chair, cracked his back and took a good look around. He stopped. A sad sigh escaped his mouth as he laid eyes on a small hill. The hill had a blooming apple tree, shading a young man and a pair of graves from the hot sun. He traced his finger across the cold stone of the biggest of the two, writing the invisible word “mom”. He looked at the smaller one and frowned, squinting at the grave as his pa called for him.

“Hey, um, could you take a look at the fence gate for me, Ames?” The father asked as his son came near.

“Sure pa, does it still need the oil or did you find something else wrong with it?” The son asked, grabbing a banged up toolbox from the barn.

“Ha, nothing new this time…” The farmer said, scratching the back of his head.

“You know, been pretty slow on the farm this season. After you're done with the fence why don’t you… take the keys and head over to that girl you’ve been so sweet with.” The farmer suggested, snapping his fingers as he scratched his chin. “Pa!” The son said, trying to hide his blushing face by smacking his father with a handkerchief.

“Hey hey! It was just a suggestion. Get your mind off more… serious things.” His father said, a somber look on his face.

“Thanks pa, I’ll fill up the truck on my way back through town.” Ames said, taking out an oil can from the toolbox.

The son heard his father step into the farmhouse, the screen door slamming back into its frame as Ames snapped a pair of welding goggles over his eyes. The boy sprayed oil into the gate joints. The son swatted around his head to shoo away a pesky bee. He kept swatting, but the bee wouldn’t learn.

“Buzz off you stupid bug!” He looked up from the gate to get a good look at this persistent creature.

He was surprised to find an empty space where a fat bumble bee should have been. The buzzing was coming from everywhere. A deep, low buzz that was low and distant. He was only hearing the sound from echoes bouncing off the hills and racing across the fields.

“What on God’s green planet is that?!” The farmer rushed out of the house, his head spinning around to find the culprit.

“Could it be a swarm of bees? Maybe locusts?” The son suggested, running his fingers through his hair while looking over the pasture. “Then it’s the biggest swarm the devil ever shat out.” The farmer said, climbing on top of his porch.

The farmer strained his eyes, looking over his pastures and fields for whatever could make that sound. He then looked up towards the sky. His face was bleached. He gasped in horror and his eyes were frozen.

“Pa, what’s wrong-?“ A white flash blanketed the fields, pastures and hills.

For a brief moment Ames could see the bones in his fingers. His father screamed in pain, grabbing his eyes. The farmer lost his footing and tumbled to the rocky ground below.

“Pa!” Ames stumbled to help his father. The son grabbed his father’s arm and pulled him to his feet.

“My leg! My leg!” The farmer cried out, grabbing his limp leg while keeping his eyes covered.

“It’s going to be okay Pa! It’ll be alright!” Ames tried to calm down his pa.

“No it's not! No it’s not!” His father cried, the son pushing and pulling his father to the storm shelter dug beneath the house.

The buzzing stopped. Ames kept leading his father to safety, craning his neck to see what his father saw. The two men were flattened by an ear splitting crash. Glass shattered and the barn collapsed, crushing the cows that ran to take shelter inside. The bovines and wild critters still left in the fields cried out in agony, losing their balance and tripping over rocks while they tumbled to the shaking ground. Ames could only hear ringing, collapsing to the ground and watching birds and clouds get blown out of the sky by a massive, solid wave. Tears streamed down his face as he dragged his father down the shelter steps, losing his grip on the farmer and sending the poor man tumbling to the bottom.

Ames reached out his hand and pulled his hardest on the door. Wind like a hurricane was keeping it open, the son ripping the skin off his palms all to close that shelter. Then the wind stopped. Ames was shocked, thrown backwards into the shelter and rolling down the stairs. He came to a stop on top of his father. Ames and his father could barely stay awake, their heads throbbing and ringing clouding their panicked thoughts. Then the surface heaved over, sending chunks of bricks and splintered timber down into the shelter. Ames used the last of his strength to shield his father from the debris, his vision slowly fading to black.

“Ames, are you there?” Ames wrenched his heavy eyes open, seeing nothing but the pitch darkness.

“Pa? Where- where are we?” Ames felt his father beneath him, the son carefully rolling off the crippled farmer.

“The grave, from how it feels.” The man said, before coughing profusely.

Ames felt his way around what felt like a cavern, before cutting himself on something sharp.

“Ow, dangit!” The son said, holding his hand tight.

He felt around for the culprit, before gingerly placing his fingers on something cold, but familiar. The son moved his fingers over the object’s surface, before picking it up in his hands. Ames fumbled with the object. He flipped a switch. The flashlight sprung to life, a bright beam jumping across the room and towards his father.

“Pa, we’re in the shelter! We survived!” Ames said, looking at the shattered remains of the homestead’s foundation.

“No Ames, not yet. Come here.” The farmer said, raising his hand in the air for his son.

The son crawled over broken shelves, furniture and shattered windows to sit beside his father. Ames grabbed his father’s hand, seeing that little trails of blood were streaming from his eyes.

“Are you alright, my son?” The farmer asked, struggling to breath.

“Yeah I’m fine, other than a couple cuts on my hands and a little ringing in my ears.” The son said, his trembling voice betraying fear.

“Okay, I need- I need you to do something for me. Can you find the emergency box for me? The one your ma made before she… before she…” The farmer said, pointing his finger aimlessly.

The son shone the flickering light across the room. He saw the box, an orange wooden trunk, broken open, its contents scattered across the floor.

“I see it pa.” Ames said, climbing over a wooden beam and the crumpled house stove to get to the trunk.

“You should find a gas mask and a couple ration tins and water cans inside.” The farmer said, before breaking into a coughing fit.

“I see the tins, but why do I need-“ The son said, before freezing. The gas mask’s goggles had shattered, drops of blood on one of the broken shards sending a flash of pain through his arm.

“Good, once you find the gas mask, I want you to wear it for as long as the filters last. Each should… should last a day.” The farmer said, trying to sit himself up.

“Pa- I don’t think-“ Ames said as he picked up the cans, but was cut off by his father.

“Listen to me, you need to leave the farm.” The farmer declared, before collapsing back to the ground in a coughing fit.

Ames rushed over to his father, holding his father’s hand.

“Pa, what do you mean? We got to stay here! We got to stay here for ma.” The son said, holding his father’s hand tight.

“I’ll stay here with her. I’ll- I’ll only slow you down.” The father said, tears mixing with the blood seeping from his eyes.

“No, no! Pa I can’t leave you!” Ames said, tears streaming from his face. The farmer felt his son’s tears drip against his face.

“I’m already fading Ames, don’t cry for an old workhorse like me.” The father said, wiping the tears off his son’s cheek.

The son stayed there for a moment, holding his father in his arms.

“Go on, go see that girl of yours. I’m going to see two.” The farmer said, his breathing becoming more and more shallow.

Ames dragged his father to what remains of a fallen mattress and laid his father down. The boy collected the cans together and tied them together in a strand of rope, slinging them over his shoulder. He grabbed a hatchet and a hand shovel from a shelf in the cellar and a kitchen knife from one of the crushed cabinets that fell down. He tucked the tools in his belt, all while listening to his father sing a soft lullaby. The farmer wasn’t singing the words, but only the melody as he mumbled the names of his wife and daughter. Ames placed his head against his father’s, listening to his soft breathing, before climbing the shattered steps out of the cellar. He forced the shelter open, smashing his body weight against the metal hatch. The boy froze. The green pastures, fields and hills surrounding his farm were mutilated. The vibrant dirt had been ripped up, burying the lush grass and wildflowers. The hills had collapsed, shattered rocks and crumbling boulders being all that remained of the rolling landscape.

Trees alongside the pastures were uprooted, snapped down the center or broken to pieces. Ames could only tell where the pastures were by those wretched remains of the trees, the fencing being nothing more than splinters strewn across the fields. The farmstead looked like a smudge against the planet, years of laughing, crying and beautiful life now reduced to a shattered ruin. Ames’ heart sank to his feet. The hill with the two gravestones, the one he had just been sitting on, was just a memory, the apple tree upturned in a ditch beside the road. Ames could barely stand anymore. His legs wobbled and began to buckle under his weight. Ames fell to his knees, images of the once beautiful landscape overwhelming the young man. His vision began to blur, but cleared once he looked up into the sky. This is what his father saw, what made his heart stop and send him hurtling to the ground. A column of ash rose up from the ground miles away, pluming into a misshapen crown that rose high into the sky, higher than the tallest mountains.

A cloud ring had formed around the trunk of the mushroom, giving an unmistakable touch to the striking horror before Ames. The boy saw a flash of light out of the corner of his eye. He felt a soft boom in the distance, followed by a faint gust of wind that blew clods of dirt in his face. Ames felt numb. He closed his eyes. All his strength left his body, his limbs wobbling in the hissing wind. The boy’s eyes flew open. Ames spun his head around towards the mountains, the mushroom casting a long shadow over their gray faces.

“June.” The boy muttered, managing to lap up a few drops of strength.

Ames rose to his feet, picking up one foot, heavier than lead and picking up the other until he started to walk. The dirt road that ran next to the farm was alien to the farm boy, the long traveled paths now merely a few scars against the face of the planet. Ames used the ditches beside them as markers to point him towards the town. Outside of the farm the boy spotted the old pickup truck, sighing at the pitiful, crumpled wreck in the ditch. He walked through the savaged fields once holding budding dandelions, daisies and the occasional rose, now buried beneath the baking dirt. He spotted the mangled carcass of one of his once fattened cows, the red smudge almost recognizable save for the shards of the poor creature’s skull. He found more remains of life the farther he walked from the farm, the heavy beasts treated nothing more than paperweights against the blast. Feathers blowing in the wind were all that was left of the majestic animals that once roamed the sky. A fox was impaled on the roots of an upturned oak, its mangled fur still blazing red in the sunlight.

Ames passed by an empty creak bed, rocks and hardened mud strewn across the shore of the once cool waters. The silence, broken only by the rushing wind, soon sunk into the back of Ames’ head, made worse by the lack of croaking and buzzing echoing from the lifeless ponds and fields. The boy began humming a song he heard over the truck’s radio once. It only made the silence worse, the song being about an old sailor yearning for his red rosy cheeked wife holding piping hot chili on the shore of the sea. The thought of chili made his stomach growl. Ames stopped for a moment, resting against the crumbling remains of a boulder. He grabbed one of the ration cans. He pulled the tab up, smacking his lips. He froze. The bright sunlight was fading. Ames looked up to the sky, seeing the mushroom dissipating into a blanket of clouds. The clouds filled the sky, blotting out the cheerful blue for a melancholic gray.

Ames stared at the ominous clouds, before catching something out of the corner of his eye. His eyes darted to find it. The farm boy found it. A small speck had floated down from the sky and onto his ration can. It looked like a puffy, black cotton ball sized snowflake, big enough for a toddler to eat. He took his finger and scooped the flake up. The flake stuck to his finger. He rubbed it between his pointer finger and thumb. It felt like…

“Ow!” Ames jumped at a burning pain enveloping his fingers.

He rubbed the flake off on the boulder. The pain subsided. “What the-?” The boy said to himself, before noticing more specks out of the corner of his eye. “Oh no.” Ames’ head shot up to the sky, his eyes wide in horror. Ash. Black ash, like from a wildfire, was falling from the sky. “Oh no, no no no.” Ames ripped parts of his shirt that were tucked under his overalls and wrapped them around his hands and face.

He strapped the unopened can over his shoulders. He jumped from the boulder and began running. Flakes were now rushing from the sky, each one getting closer and closer to the farm boy. He looked back and saw flakes sticking to the back of his boots and pants. His feet felt hotter and hotter. A tingling sensation was spiking up and down the boy’s legs. A rotten strawberry taste, like metal, was in the back of Ames’ throat. The farm boy ran as fast as his stricken legs could take him. His heart pounded in his chest. His lungs heaved for air. His eyes began to blur. He kept running. He tripped. He bowled over onto cracked pavement, rolling until he smacked against something hard. Ames was dazed, panting heavily through the cloth mask. His heart settled and breaths steadied. He blinked his eyes, partly clearing his vision. He breathed a sigh of relief.

He tripped over the mangled remains of a motorcycle, parked in front of the crumpled, warped metal shell of the diner outside of town. Ames’ hard cushion was a bent stop sign, remarkably still standing after the devastation. The boy flew into a panic as he saw the ash building on top of his body. He clambered to his feet, scraping off the soot and launching into a sprint towards the town. He rushed down the main street, passing by crumpled cars, fire hydrants and mailboxes in search of a standing shelter. The brick buildings had dominoed into each other, smashing into neighboring walls until the shops and houses were just piles of rubble. All but one. The town hall loomed over the shattered carcass of a once thriving town. The townhouses had shielded the stone edifice, acting like one big wall against the devastation. Ames bolted up the stairs, climbing with his hands and knees until he reached the top. The wooden entrance was torn open, making way for Ames to jump through. The farm boy laid against the cracked marble floor. The ash blew through the door frames and shattered windows, but none of it could reach the center of the spacious hall. Where Ames was resting.

The boy settled his heart and calmed his breathing. He then sat up and looked at his surroundings. The town hall was trampled. Furniture was thrown into the center of the room, toppling the receptionist’s desk and creating a mangled, splintered mass of wood and steel. Wires were dangling from the ceiling and seeping from the walls, as though a spider machine had made itself at home. Ames sat in the dust, taking off his rags. He watched the ash cover the crumbling red ruins. It almost looked like winter had come in summer. Tranquil. The only sounds that could be heard came from the howling wind and Ames’ own heart beat. The farm boy was tempted to stick his tongue out and taste the refreshing snow. He knew better, unless he preferred to burn his tongue. Ames spun his head around. He heard shuffling echoing from one of the hallways. The farm boy took one last look past the warped front doors. He picked himself up, grunting as his legs felt like concrete. The hall was gray, the only light coming from sunlight peeking through cracks in the walls. The doors were still sealed, the names of the workers still pasted over previous occupants’ tags.

Ames stopped. The shuffling was coming from the stairway at the end. He picked up his pace. An office had collapsed from the ceiling and into the stairway, leaving only a gap for the farm boy to barely squeeze through. The top floor wasn’t really a floor. Tiles had collapsed to the main hall below, leaving gaping holes for any careless explorers. Ames almost stepped through one of these holes, his heart nearly jumping out of his mouth in shock. He hugged the wall, softly stepping into the only open doorway. Ames froze. A man was crushed under a stone slab, a gaping hole peering out towards the sky. His arm was the only survivor, gripping onto the severed head of a red telephone. The shuffling was coming from something covered in white, leaning against one of the walls. Ames crept his way around the hand. He pulled the pristine cloth back. A raven was smashing against its cage. The bird calmed at the sight of Ames, hopping around to face the farm boy. It made a clicking and clacking sound with its beak, followed by short squawks.

“Aw, poor thing. Probably the last of your kind… like me.” Ames said, looking for the lock.

A simple latch was the only thing caging this ebony creature. “Dang it, the things smashed in. Hold on.” Ames grabbed his hatchet.

The raven squeezed to the back of its cage, cawing at the farm boy.

“Don’t worry, this thing ain’t seen a chicken’s head in its life.” Ames said, hacking at the warped latch.

One strike. Two strikes. Three and done! The latch gave way. Ames threw the door open, the raven rushing past him. The majestic beast flapped around the room, making clicking and honking noises. The creature then glided down beside the hand. The raven was silent. It prodded the hand with the top of its beak. It then bowed its head, making low hoots.

“Poor guy… I lost my pa too.” Ames said, crouching beside the somber creature.

The raven looked up from the hand and then at the farm boys’ shoulder. The ebony bird flapped its wings and rose to perch on Ames.

“Ha, wanna come along for the ride or are your wings just tired?” Ames said, gently scratching the raven’s chest feathers.

The raven rubbed his head against Ames’, clicking and clacking. Ames caught a tag around the bird’s leg.

“Poe. Your name is Poe? Not very original, is it?” The raven nipped at the farm boy.

“Oops, sorry. ‘Never mock people’s names. Mamas gives them names.’ That’s what my ma taught me, before she passed.” The farm boy told the bird.

“Hey, this can shield us from the flakes!” Ames said, taking the cloth covering and wrapping it around his waist.

The two survivors slipped out of the office. Ames traced his steps back to the stairway, the raven clicking as it stared at the crumbling floor.

“Where is everybody? Do they have a shelter around here?” Ames said, half asking the bird as they walked back to the main hall.

It merely chirped away, looking at the ash falling from the gashes in the walls and ceiling. Ames got his answer. A door on the other side of the main hall had a house symbol painted on the front. “Fallout Shelter.” Read orange painted letters under the symbol.

“Whelp, how do you feel about living underground?” Ames asked the bird, who squawked at the door.

The farm boy grabbed the door handle. He pulled his hand away, jumping back.

“Ow! What the-?” The farm boy shook his hand, the raven poking at the red marks fading from his scarred palms.

“I’m fine, but boy is it gonna blister.” Ames took a rag hanging from his belt and wrapped it around his hand.

The farm boy scratched his head. His nose flared. Smoke wafted from the cracks in the wooden frame.

“What use is a shelter if it doesn’t protect you?!” Ames cried, taking his axe and hacking away at the door.

Hot air rushed out of the fresh gashes. The raven hopped off the farm boy’s shoulder, finding a safe place to watch.

“Hello, is anyone down there?!” Ames yelled down the holes.

Nothing. The only sound was the roaring fire. Smoke began to waft up through cracks in the marble floor. The raven cawed at Ames, flapping its way to the farm boy. Ames spun his head around. The ash was falling like the night before christmas. The ruins were nothing more than gray shapes in the ash storm.

“Get baked or roasted?! What a choice!” Ames wrapped the white sheet over his body.

The raven squeezed under the cloth, nestling itself on the farm boy’s shoulder. The farm boy grabbed his welding goggles and snapped it over his head.

“I’ve never worn a ‘poncho’ before. So here goes!” He said, ripping a hole in the sheet big enough for him to peek out.

He snapped the goggles over the sheet, covering his eyes.

“Ready Poe?” Ames patted the raven’s head, who rubbed against the farm boy’s neck.

The farm boy pounded his feet against the marble floor. Smoke spurted from each step. Smoke plumed from new cracks. Ames leapt out into the storm. The farm boy sunk his feet into a layer of ash, the black soot smearing the once pristine sheet. He ran down the main street, out of the ruined town. The farm boy felt his skin tingle and a pain like lightning bolts shoot through his legs. Ames’ eyes darted around the ashen landscape. His eyes stopped. The overturned remains of a canvased truck sat in a ditch beside the cracked road. The farm boy leapt through a hole in the canvas. Ames smashed into piles of small metal crates. Poe tumbled off the farm boy’s shoulder, out of the poncho and landed inside one of the boxes. Little specks of ash blew through the man sized gash, but the canvas still held. Ames sat on one of the cans, settling his pounding heart. The farm boy held his right shoulder, pulling back his poncho and sleeve. A tender bruise had found a home on his shoulder. Ames winced when he tried to move it. Poe jostled inside his box, the metal banging and clanging against its siblings.

“Hold on you silly thing, let me help-“ The farm boy paused after he pulled the raven out of its trap.

Bullets were strewn over the tops of the green ‘Ammo Cans’, words stenciled in yellow on the sides of the boxes.

“These are all like the ones pa had for his rifle years ago.” Ames said, picking up one of the steel casings.

“Wait, does that mean?” The farm boy crawled over the pile of boxes and towards the front of the truck.

He peaked through a window into the front. The driver and passenger seats were empty, the driver’s door open with the side door trapped under the truck's weight. Ames could barely see through the front window, but saw other vehicles, painted in bright orange, dotting the road ahead. All were motionless.

“The army came through here! We might just have a chance to survive, Poe!” The farm boy said, the raven flapping over to sit on his shoulder.

Poe held a bullet in his mouth, glinting in the pale gray light.

“You like that? Well it’s the only one we can bring. Won’t do us any good against the ash.” Ames said, stroking the raven’s beak with his finger.

The farm boy took a seat on top of the pile of ammo cans and grabbed a can from his back. The can still had the tab pulled up.

“Finally get to have lunch.” Ames said, prying open the lid.

The can had the bare essentials. Eight biscuits, two packets of salt, a packet of sugar for the small tin of ground coffee and three hard candies. Included was a pack of “Pied Piper Cigarettes”. The farm boy simply stuffed the pack in his pocket. Poe pecked at the pocket.

“Don’t worry, I don’t smoke. But it could be useful for bartering… if the army survived.” Ames said, looking through the truck’s front window.

The farm boy took a bite out of one of the biscuits. He had to grind the cracker up in his teeth, before swallowing the crumbly morsel. Poe looked inside the empty can.

“Sorry there’s no meat for you pal. Maybe we can find something in the army’s leftovers.” Ames said, opening one of the water cans and taking a swig.

The raven hopped onto the farm boy’s knee and looked at one of the biscuits.

“Polly wanna cracker?” Ames joked, holding up the rock solid biscuit. Poe nipped at the farm boy’s hand.

“Hey, sorry! I couldn’t help it.” The farm boy said, sucking on the nipped finger.

Ames crumbled up parts of the cracker for the raven. Poe clicked and clacked as he gobbled up the crumbs.

“At least you like it.” The farm boy commented, sticking the other crackers in the can.

“Ma always said ‘don’t eat candy before real food’, but this food is only for the birds.” Ames said, popping the hard candy in his mouth.

The farm boy finished the last of the candies, licking his fingers of the stickiness. He stopped to listen. Silence. The wind had stopped. No more specks floated inside the truck.

“Is it over?” Ames said, climbing down the box pile.

Poe hopped onto the farm boy’s shoulder, making a few clicks with his beak. Ames peaked his head outside. Ames blinked his eyes.

“What in the?” The farm boy stepped out of the truck.

Dunes. Everywhere he looked, piles of black ash were there. The ruined town far behind them was buried in soot, only the tip of the town hall peaking out. Poe flapped his wings and took to the sky. The raven circled overhead, sweeping over the derelict vehicles all along the soot ridden road. Ames kept looking at the alien landscape as he followed his feathered companion. He was speechless. One moment his planet was green and luscious, the next it's covered in mounds of black ash. The farm boy peaked inside the bright orange machines, their paint jobs sticking out like a sore thumb in the dark landscape. Everything that wasn’t bolted down or couldn’t be carried by hand was picked clean, leaving nothing for would-be scavengers. Ames was amazed to find a machine gun laying on its side in the middle of the road, half buried in ash. In a jeep the farm boy spotted a bright orange helmet sitting in the passenger seat. He grabbed it, placing it on top of his head.

“Now anyone can spot me for miles, especially you buddy!” Ames yelled, Poe clicking and clacking in reply.

The clouds began to part, revealing a bright blue sky. The bright sun opened onto the foreign landscape, rolling dunes morphing into blobs against the black desert. The vehicles just kept going. It was the only way Ames could tell where the old road was, becoming markers in the hostile landscape. They were all in pretty bad shape, but nothing like the crumpled wrecks that littered the town.

“Where is everyone? I’m thankful I’ve found no bodies but still…” Ames yelled to Poe, who clicked and clacked in reply.

Ames froze. Off in the distance, next to the line of machines, was a farmstead.

“June!!!” Ames booked it. “I completely forgot about her!” The farm boy yelled, Poe squawking and flapping his wings to catch up with him.

“Oh Lord, please still be there! Please still be alive!” Ames yelled, his voice echoing across the dunes.

The farmhouse had a dune sitting against it, sand pouring through the broken windows. The sprawling groves of apple trees surrounding the house were mangled and buried beneath the ash. June’s father had his old car sitting out front, only the roof sticking out of the sand.

“Good, they haven’t left!” The farm boy panted, heart pounding harder the closer he got to the farmhouse.

The house was sagging to the side, the ash dune crushing the shattered home.

“June! I’m here June!” Ames yelled, standing outside the farmhouse.

No answer. He ran up to the porch, pulling back the tattered screen door and pounding on the splintered front door.

“June! Anyone! Can you hear me?!” The farm boy yelled, Poe gliding down to sit on the porch railing.

Ames grabbed his hatchet.

“I’m coming in!” The farm boy said, ready to swing.

He froze. He dug through a pile of ash near the door. A porcelain gnome was sitting beneath. He tossed the gnome aside and grabbed an old key beneath its boot. He fumbled the key into the lock. Ames flew the door open. The house was a mess. The top floor had collapsed, turning the once cozy nest into a wood chippers’ dinner.

“June! Are you here?!” Ames began picking through the splintered timbers, rolling over shattered furniture.

Poe flew inside, poking inside cracks too small for Ames. The farm boy frantically sifted through everything, ignoring the mounds of black soot he stuck his hands inside of. He froze. Ames heard banging coming from one of the ash piles. He grabbed his shovel and started digging.

“Hold on, I’m coming!” Ames yelled, Poe dodging the ash flying through the air.

He unearthed an old, wooden hatch.

“Ames, is that you?!” The farm boy sighed with relief. He never thought he’d miss that gruff voice.

“It's me, Mister Fergus! Is everyone alright?!” The farm boy yelled at the hatch.

“We’re fine as can be in this hell! The door’s jammed, is there anything blocking it?!” The old farmer yelled, relief hidden in his stern tone.

Ames looked at the cracked wooden beam sitting on top of the hatch. He slammed his full weight against it. He did this over and over again, each time the timber moving an inch. Ames smashed into the beam one more time, the heavy timber sliding off the hatch and into a pile of ash. The hatch flew open. Mister Fergus climbed out, followed by his wife.

“I never thought you’d be a site for sore eyes.” The old farmer said, embracing the exhausted boy sitting on the timber.

“Oh you poor thing! You moved that beam all by yourself?!” Misses Fergus asked, dabbing a soot ridden handkerchief over Ames’ forehead.

“Ames!!!” A brown haired, green eyed girl shouted at the sight of the farm boy.

“June…” Ames said, getting the life squeezed out of him by the farm girl. “I’m guessing your pa didn’t make it?” Mister Fergus asked, pulling up what remains of a dining chair next to the beam.

Ames shook his head wearily, June still holding tight to him.

“Damn, he was a good man. At least we still have you.” The old farmer said, before giving Ames the first smile the farm boy has seen on that stoic face. Mister Fergus launched into a coughing fit, using his shirt to cover his mouth.

“How was the town? Were there any…” Misses Fergus trailed off, seeing the raven perched on one of the remains of her shelves.

“That’s Poe, he’s a friend of mine. Completely harmless.” Ames said, the raven flapping over to rest on the farm boy’s shoulder.

“I didn’t see anybody, dead or alive. They might have been caught in the fire under the town hall.” Ames said, finally freeing himself of June’s grip.

“I thought I recognized the mayor’s bird.” Mister Fergus said once he stopped coughing, wiping his mouth off.

The sun was setting on the farmstead, casting the ashen wasteland in deep reds.

“Oh my, what’s happened to the world?” Misses Fergus said, looking outside one of the shattered windows.

Ames tried to get up. His legs wouldn’t let him. He ignored it, instead hugging the brunette in his arms. His eyes grew wide in horror. Her skin, once soft like a freshly washed stuffed bear, was red with small black patches. He looked at his scarred hands. He could barely open and close the horrid things, red marks feeling like leather to the touch. Mister Fergus’ collar was disheveled, covered in droplets of blood. One of Misses Fergus’ legs was stiff as she moved around the house. Ames' vision blurred from tears and exhaustion. His limbs ached from everything. His entire body burned. He gripped June tight. The world turned dark as he faded off to sleep.