...

Ashes

...

Jack didn't know exactly how long he'd been out cold. It could have been a few minutes, maybe a few hours...or hell, it could have even been a few days. Nevertheless, he regained consciousness as well as receiving a mighty headache.

With a groan, he slowly opened his eyes, and the first thing he registered was the sky; a cloudy grey sky, the sort you'd expect at the onset of rainfall, with not even a peep of sunlight. Jack blinked, the better to clear the haze that seemed to have engulfed his head, and steadily sat up. As he did so, a cloud of dusty grey material slid off his chest and onto his lap, surprising the boy. He then realised that he was completely covered in this powdery cement-colored substance, from the hair on his head, to the toes of his sneakers. Jack frowned, and then began dusting himself; he must have been lying down here for a long time to have all this stuff settling down onto him.

And then he realised that the grey dust wasn't just on his own clothes and body; it was everywhere. It coated the ground, like a layer of soft powdery snow, and whenever he took a step, it billowed around for a while before settling down on whatever surface it chose. Jack coughed, as some of the powdery matter entered his mouth, and as he opened his eyes, he noticed the sheer desolation that surrounded him.

Jack was standing right in the middle of a front lawn, or rather, what must have been a front lawn in some previous existence. The plants were nothing more than charred skeletons of what they used to be, and the grass was replaced by the same grey powder that coated everything, which Jack now realized was ash. Some of the dirt had even been fused into glass. The shattered house to which the lawn belonged to was even worse off; apart from being completely burnt black by fire, the roof was near non-existent, two of the walls had fallen apart, and the interior was nothing but rubble. And it wasn't just Jack's immediate surroundings. This had clearly been an idyllic suburb, and as such, the same damage had been repeated throughout, street by street, with the same charred plantlife and the same houses reduced to matchsticks, with the same charred colours, black and grey, repeated over and over again, like a grim painting put together by a colorblind artist.

Even worse, were the cars, both in their driveways and on the street. They were unrecognizable as automobiles; whatever force had reduced the landscape to cinders had done the same to these cars, as they were nothing more than metallic shells, like the skulls of some deceased animal put out for display to add to the devastation. A light wind blew, making the scrap metal groan and creak and raise the hairs on the back of Jack's neck.

"Son of a bitch...," swore Jack, his voice hoarse, "Son of a bitch..."

Now just where the hell had he turned up? Jack calmed his beating heart and drew out his cellphone (it was a wonder that it had even survived the journey). He flipped open its screen, and ignored the 'No Service' indicator on the top left corner, instead switching over to a special set of numbers; the codes to the Autobots' emergency frequency, patented by Ratchet himself for use in situations just like these...well, almost like these...

Jack thumbed through the list of numbers before settling on the frequency for Autobot Outpost Omega One. He hit the button and waited, but to his surprise, the call didn't patch through. He frowned and tried a second time, but still no luck. He then attempted to contact each and every one of the Autobots, and he even tried Miko's cell, but still no dice. With a sigh, he flipped his phone closed, giving up the whole thing as a bad job. But he still held on to the device nevertheless.

His mind made up, Jack plodded down the street, his every step kicking up small clouds of ash. Hoever, navigating the charred street was easier said than done; the entire width of the road was choked with the rusted frames of charred automobiles, and Jack was trying his hardest to squeeze between these dead vehicles. Obviously, it looked like there was a massive exodus taking place before everything was completely wiped out. The reason for a mass evacuation? Jack didn't know, though he had a sneaking suspicion he was going to find out.

It was only when he realised that he was making hardly any progress at all, did Jack, with a frustrated snarl, give up travelling by road, and decide to stick with the sidewalks. And then he wondered why he hadn't thought of that earlier, and cursed himself.

Almost an hour later, and Jack was still walking.

He had tried to contact the Autobots several times, but to no avail. That didn't mean he was going to give up just yet, however. He was sure that if he could find a way into whatever this hellish place was, then he could jolly well find a way out. He just had to find some form of civilization in this blasted landscape. If he could, that is...

Jack sighed for the umpteenth time, as his cellphone tried and failed to patch through. He was beginning to wonder just why he kept on trying, when he noticed the letters on the brick wall.

They looked like they'd been spray painted quite some time ago, and the white paint was just beginning to fade. Nevertheless, the letters were still readable, even after such a presumably long time:

NO SURVIVORS

Jack felt his heart sink at the sight. No survivors? What did that mean? Was there an attack? Were people injured? And if there were, did that include the Autobots, as well as Raf, Miko and the others? And what about his Mom? What of Fowler and the others? What about-

A loud caw jolted Jack away from his thoughts, and he looked up to see a pitch black raven alight on a crisped fence post. The bird ruffled its tattered wings, sending more ash drifting downwards, and stared at Jack down its jagged beak. It cawed again.

Jack steadied his breathing and let out a breath. So this place was not completely dead after all; this bird, ragged and mangy as it was, had to be surviving somehow, which meant that there was probably a food source somewhere, maybe even people.

Emboldened, Jack walked on, ignoring the raven as it followed his progress, its beady black eyes glinting. He reached the end of the street, arriving at a burnt intersection, and it was there that he saw the remains of what was unmistakably a military helicopter.

It lay on its side amongst several crushed automobiles, its skin scorched and burnt, and its frame bent, crumpled and split open in several different places. Its entire tail unit was missing, having been brutally snapped off, and its rotors were in terrible shape; one of the blades was missing, and the others were bent at wierd angles, like broken fingers. Spray painted on its side was the same message again: No Survivors.

Jack swallowed, and approached the wreck cautiously. He could just barely make out the faded designations stenciled on the chopper's side, as well as several scratch marks that criss crossed the hull. To Jack, they eerily resembled the claw marks of some raging animal, and he shivered. He moved along the chopper's side until he reached the cockpit, and that was when he looked in and gave a small scream of terror.

The pilot, or rather, his skeleton, leered up at Jack from its place on his seat. The skull, along with all the other bones and the tattered remains of the pilot's uniform, were charred to the point of resembling brittle charcoal. As Jack scurried back, a few ribs crumbled into dust, and the grinning skull popped off its support and shattered itself on the control panel.

"Holy shit...," swore Jack, as he backed away slowly. He bumped into a car that hadn't been completely smashed to a pulp, and he saw that it too contained a skeleton, this one sprawled across the remains of the back seat like a macabre rag doll. He felt his breath catch in his throat. The skeleton was small, and it didn't take a genius to know that this was the skeleton of a child.

Jack wanted to feel sick, and he was seriously considering bending over and retching, when his phone rang.

Jack jumped in surprise at the sound of the ringtone, and he quickly flipped open the screen. The caller ID was registering as an unknown number, and Jack hesitated. But then he remembered where he was and how he got there, and he simply muttered "Screw it" before hitting the reply button. Immediately, a male voice filtered into Jack's ear.

"Operator here, callin' in response to an Autobot signal I picked from yer approximate location. Please identify yourself..."

The person on the other end was young, very much so, with an American accent, and Jack frowned. "Uh...Hello...?"

There was a pause on the other end, and then the Operator responded, "Umm...hello? You the guy who sent out yer distress call?"

"Uh...yeah?"

"O-kaaay...Well, forgive me for bein' a little rude an' all, but...who the fuck am I talkin' to?"

Jack paused, not sure how to respond. But he shook his head and said, "Hey, I'm the one in the dark here! I was trying to contact Team Prime, but-"

"Woah, woah, hold on! 'Team Prime'?" exclaimed the Operator. "What, is that some wannabe garage band some hick set up, or something?"

Jack clenched his teeth. "They're not a garage band," he said, as evenly as he could, "And I'm not a hick; my name's Jack."

There was another pause, and then the Operator responded. "Jack Darby? That's yer name? Weird...I think I've heard it before...can't say where, though..."

Jack felt a jolt of hope. "Yeah, my name's Jack...I was trying to get hold of Autobot Outpost Omega One-"

"Omega One?!" exclaimed the Operator, "You said Omega One?! Dude, Omega One's been decommissioned a real long time ago! Jesus, who the hell are you, man?"

Jack felt his stomach plummet. "De-Decommissioned? No, that's impossible...I was there myself a few hours ago! This can't be right!"

"Hey, I'm not lying to ya, man; I'm lookin' at the report on my screen and that's what it says...Man, you really are messed up. You sure you ain't been drinkin', dude?"

"I haven't been drinking!" snapped Jack, angrily. "I just woke up here in the middle of this hellhole, okay?!"

"So, you're sayin' you just magically woke up in the Southern Dead Zone...Man, this morning's just gettin' weirder and weirder..."

Jack snorted. "Tell me about it..."

"Well, since you seem to be so keen on a pickup, I guess I can arrange somethin' fer ya," said the Operator. Jack could hear what was unmistakably the sound of a wheeled chair and the tap-tap of a keyboard. "Just as long as you're really a 'Bot and not some 'Con in disguise."

Jack sighed, as relief flooded him; relief because there were people he could ask for help after all. "You don't have to worry about 'Cons," said Jack, "I'm only human, after all. Not much I can do with nothing but a cell phone..."

"Wait...you're human? And you're in the Southern Dead Zone? Damn...Y'know, I'm surprised you ain't been torn to pieces yet. You're a lucky man, Jacky-boy..."

"Err...Thanks, I guess?"

"Alright, I can get a Bridge out there," said the Operator, "but not at yer exact location; signals get really screwed up in the Dead Zones, so I'll have to send in the whole team out there in search formation to cover the whole area..."

Jack frowned. "Oh..how long is that gonna take?"

"Depends on whether or not you can survive out there long enough for us to find you...and whether or not we can comb the area fast enough...and whether or not I can get the guys to quit their training exercise...and whether or not I can get the Commander on line...You'll have to find some shelter, man...Maybe somewhere on the high ground, if you can find it."

"Okay..."

"And keep yer communicator on; It might help triangulate yer position better."

"Right, I'll keep that in mind," said Jack, as he worked his way through the tangle of dead automobiles, the skeletons forgotten. "Thanks a bunch...Operator..."

"Hey, just call me Zed, man, everybody else does!"

For those of you who are wondering, no, I have not abandoned 'Exile'; I am currently working on the next chapter. In fact, I'm writing it right now.

Also, I am pleased to note that we have a new forum up on Fan Fiction: The Transformers Coalition for Open-Minded Writers, created in response to the recent bout of trolling attacks we've been suffering from.

No matter what pairing you ship or what character you like, you will always be welcome to the Coalition, where you can discuss your thoughts on the show and its characters, and where your ideas and voices will be heard by users who will truly respect your opinions, be they good or bad. So why don't you go ahead and give our forum a try? Who knows, you might even find a new favorite author over there! (please let it be me, please let it be me, please let it be me...)

-This Zapwing, signing off.