Ashen Winter (Ashfall)

could easily have shredded this silence—and Darla and me with it. I rested my hands on my knees, trying to stop their trembling. My side hurt, but I welcomed the pain. Welcomed the aliveness of it.
    I heard a soft thump from the bedroom. I got down on my knees to peek around the doorjamb, figuring the guy would probably expect me to be standing.
    I couldn’t see anything in the darkness of the bedroom, so I thrust the lamp through the doorway. The guy had slumped sideways in the closet. The hand holding the MAC-10 was flung outward, resting on the carpet beside him. I stood and stepped quickly through the bedroom.
    When I got to the guy, I stepped on his wrist so he couldn’t raise the gun. He didn’t even wake up.
    Darla reached down and pried the MAC-10 from his fingers. She fiddled with it for a moment and pulled a rectangular piece off the bottom of the weapon. “Huh. Check this out.” She held the block of metal out toward me.
    I shrugged. “What am I looking at?”
    “The magazine, dummy. It’s empty. Guy was out of bullets. That’s why he didn’t shoot you at the farm.”
    “I can see why his buddy left him here. He was bleeding out, probably slowing his friend down. But why’d he leave him with the gun? It’s valuable. And one without bullets? Useless for defense.”
    Darla shrugged.
    I bent over the bandit. His skin was pale as snow, and his lips looked bruised. I put the back of my hand against his mouth—he was breathing. When I checked his pulse, though, I had trouble finding it. “He’s alive, but barely.”
    “Let’s melt some snow,” Darla said. “Maybe if we splash water in his face, he’ll wake up enough for us to ask him about the shotgun again.”
    “Should we try to stop the bleeding first? If he dies on us—”
    “Then we won’t find out anything. Yeah, I guess we should patch him up first.” Darla scowled.
    I didn’t like the idea of helping this guy any more than she did. He and his buddies had shot Max, had tried to kidnap the girls for who-knew-what. But we had no good way to track the other guy—the one who’d worn a blue scarf, and I needed to know where the shotgun had come from. I yanked the guy out of the closet. Blood was still oozing from the wound at his side.
    “Get the med kit off Bikezilla, would you?” I asked.
    “Christ.”
    I stripped the bandit to the waist while I waited for Darla to return. She had shot him low on his right side. The wound on his back was just a small puncture that had mostly quit bleeding, but the bullet had left a crater the size of a child’s fist as it exited the front.
    “It’s not like we have a lot of extra bandages to waste on this guy,” Darla said when she returned with our first-aid kit.
    I took a clean cloth out of the box, wadded it, and packed it into the wound as tightly as I could.
    “He isn’t going to make it,” Darla said. “He’s lost too much blood already.”
    I didn’t reply, instead starting to wrap his torso with an Ace bandage. Darla shook her head in disgust but knelt to help.
    When I pulled the Ace bandage tight, the guy woke up and started mumbling. Something about “Gun, gun, where’s my gun?” His hands clenched and unclenched as he talked.
    “Where’d Bill get the shotgun?” I asked him.
    He kept mumbling, his voice dropping and his words becoming incoherent.
    Darla slapped her palm over the wound and pushed down. “Where’d you get the shotgun!”
    The guy moaned and batted at her hand, feebly trying to knock it away from the wound. Darla bore down harder, and suddenly his body went limp. “Is he dead?” she asked.
    I checked his breathing and pulse again. “No.”
    We lit a fire in the living room hearth and melted snow. But no amount of water splashed on the guy’s face would wake him. Darla went outside, scouting for signs of Blue Scarf. When she stomped back into the living room, she said, “That last guy with this loser isn’t leaving a trail. He must have left here by the road. Maybe he kept going south, but as soon as he makes a turn, we’ll lose him.”
    “He could have left hours ago.”
    “Yeah. I think it’s a lost cause. Sorry, Alex.”
    “This guy’s still alive. Maybe he’ll recover.”
    “You want to hang around here and see if he wakes up?”
    “No, that’ll take too long. And he might die. Let’s load him on Bikezilla and take him to a doctor.” I lifted him by his shoulders and started jamming his arms into his shirt.
    Darla sighed and