Chapter 29 : Ashes to Ashes

Ash's POV "—And I want to take this moment to remind our audience at home, that the children—regardless of caste, sex, age, or pack—are our future—" "I never liked Wilmot." It wasn't often I dreamed of Dad. I think the last time I did was in middle school when Roger Schmidt tripped me and I knocked my front tooth out. I'd been lucky, it had a double tooth, so he saved me a great deal of dentists fees. Still, it didn't stop me from crying myself to sleep and thinking of better times. And better usually involved him. Dad was a mess of sepia tone and the texture of bad newsprint. Poor lighting had bleached away the shadows in his face, and he came to me more cartoon idealism than man. Still, he was a comfort. Dad stoked the fire in front of us, crinkled hand prodding smoking embers back to life with a blanked stick. We used to take camping trips like this all the time when I was a kid. Dad was born outside of Lonton, and thus, didn't have the Dustland taint