Ashen Winter (Ashfall)

looked around. Nobody was smiling.
    Melba stared daggers at me. “Let’s welcome Mr. Halprin properly,” she said, extending her hand.
    I reached to shake her hand, but she clasped my thumb instead and did a little stutter step, moving closer to me and bending my arm. Her other hand grabbed my elbow, her foot hooked mine, and suddenly I was flat on my back staring up at her.
    “That,” Melba said, “is what is colloquially referred to as a ‘chicken wing.’ My English classes are not boring , Mr. Halprin. And I also teach a judo seminar.”
    A chuckle passed around the room, and I felt my face flush. “Sorry, I should have warned you,” Mom said. Melba held out her hand to help me up, but I rolled instead, coming up in a defensive stance.
    “Good throw,” I said. “You know the counter?”
    Melba nodded.
    “Let’s demonstrate it,” I held out my hand again, and we worked through the counter-move in slow motion. Taekwondo doesn’t emphasize throws the way judo does, so Melba was better at them, but now that I was prepared, I mostly held my own. Soon I was into the rhythm of the class: demonstrating moves with Melba, coaching students, and pairing them off to practice.
    I called a short break after about a half hour. “I’ve got to go check on the other classes,” Mom said.
    “There are more?”
    “Dozens. We do martial arts in here since it’s the biggest space we have. I call it the LGI.”
    “LGI?”
    “Large Group Instruction,” Mom snorted. “See you at dinner.”
    • • •
    We repeated the ambush that night using Alyssa as bait again. It was mind-numbingly boring; I had to fight to stay alert all night, and absolutely nothing happened.
    Ben had spent the night observing the guards. He joined Dad, Alyssa, and me as we were getting ready for breakfast.
    “Did you figure out an escape plan?” I asked Ben.
    “Yes. But I need more time to observe the guards and confirm it will work flawlessly.”
    “I don’t have more time.” My brain was stuck in a loop, thinking that Darla might not have more time, either.
    “We’ve been over this,” Dad said. “You might never find her. You might get killed trying. Our family is going to stick together.”
    “I know, but—”
    “There’s the minor problem of the fence, razor wire, and guards, too,” Alyssa said.
    “It’s not a significant problem,” Ben said. “The guard pattern has vulnerabilities, and with a simple weighted canvas sling the razor wire can be defeated. There’s a device purpose-built for precisely that . . .”
    Ben kept talking. I figured he might never shut up, so I talked over him. “Dad, I’m going to leave. If you want us to stay together, you’re welcome to come along.”
    “That’s not going to happen. Your mother and I have a responsibility here. We’re going to do whatever we can to protect these people. Whatever that takes!” Dad was practically yelling at me, talking far louder than needed to be heard over Ben.
    “It’s useless, anyway,” Alyssa said. “Walking around all night freezing my ass off. This is never going to work.”
    Ben interrupted his own discourse on methods for breaching fences. “It will work. Statistically, it’s not likely to work on any given night, but with enough trial runs, it’s virtually certain to succeed.”
    “Whatever, computer boy. I’m going to get a decent night’s sleep tonight for once.” She wheeled around and stomped toward the breakfast line.
    Ben’s hands were fluttering at his side. “No . . . no, no, no. The Sister Unit must complete Ben’s plan.”
    “Jesus, Ben. It’s not always about you!” she yelled over her shoulder. I’d never seen her dis her brother like that before.
    Dad was staring, eyes moving from Alyssa to Ben as if he were watching a tennis match.
    Ben started screaming in that high-pitched monotone of his. He lashed out, and his fist hit the side of his own head with a thud. I reached for his arm, trying to stop him from hurting himself. When I touched his arm, he punched wildly. I jumped back, and his forearm swished through the air where my head had been. His foot connected with a tent, tearing away one of its ropes from the canvas. People shouted from within, and Ben fell, tripped by his own kick, arms and legs still wildly flailing.
    Dad grabbed Ben, trying to hold him down. But Dad had trouble even getting a firm grip—Ben thrashed with the insane violence of a fish just tossed in the bottom of a boat. Plus, he was