Ashen Winter (Ashfall)

volcano, Alyssa’s biggest concerns might have been homework, swapping snark with friends on Facebook, or completing college applications. Now she was risking her life and freedom to help Darla, a girl she’d never met. Or maybe to help me. Either way, I didn’t feel good about it.
    It took a while for the sentry to notice Dad and Alyssa. He snatched a rifle from the ground and turned. I struggled to keep the rifle sighted on him as he moved. I kept moving the barrel too fast, getting the sighting U misaligned with the rifle’s post and then overcorrecting.
    The sentry stopped, aiming his rifle at Dad. I got the Remington lined up again—the U-shaped front sight, rear post, and the center of the sentry’s body formed a neat line starting at my right eye. I was ready.
    “Who are you?” the sentry yelled. Even from my post above him, I could hear the sneer in his voice.
    “Just here to trade,” Dad yelled back.
    “Trade what?”
    “Her.” Dad yanked on the cord around Alyssa’s neck, making her stumble.
    A grin spread across the sentry’s face, reminding me of a hyena looking up from his kill. He lowered his eye to the rifle, preparing to shoot my father and take the spoils for free.

Chapter 78
    “You shoot and you’re dead.” Incredibly, Dad was smiling, too.
    “You’re at the wrong end of my gun, bud,” the sentry said.
    “And you’re at the wrong end of my son’s.” Dad gestured up at me, on the rooftop to his left.
    The sentry swiveled, pointing his rifle my way.
    I waved. Most of my head and shoulders were protected by the ridgeline. Unless he was exceptionally good with that rifle, I didn’t think he could hit me.
    “Boy can hit a squirrel in the eye at 300 yards!” Dad yelled, which was a total lie. “Lower your gun. We just want to trade.”
    “Why would I want to trade with you?” He lowered his gun slightly, but I couldn’t relax.
    “You’re a Dirty White Boy, right?”
    The guy pulled up his shirts. DWB was tattooed in ornate letters across his chest, arching over an outline of Illinois. “To the death.”
    “Heard you guys were pimping the hottest girls in Iowa.”
    “Yeah, not hags like that one you brought.”
    He was talking about Alyssa? Was he blind?
    Dad unzipped her jacket and lifted her shirts, revealing a white bra that had been worn and washed so much it was starting to turn gray. He hooked his finger beneath the underwire and roughly lifted it, exposing one breast to the icy air.
    I started to look away, realized I was putting us all in danger, and forced myself to look at the sentry again. I wanted to shoot the sentry to put an end to this farce. Even though Alyssa had hatched this lunatic plan herself, it was my fault she was in this position. I swallowed hard, struggling to concentrate.
    Dad squeezed Alyssa’s breast. “This isn’t some hag. This is primo ass. Young and fresh.”
    Why did Dad have to be so damn crass? I was seized by an irrational desire to shoot him . But it was working. The sentry was chuckling. “Yeah. I’d hit that. But I can’t negotiate. We gotta go see Wolfe.”
    “I’ll give you a ride,” Dad said. “We’ll show up in style.” He turned and waved his arms over his head, signaling to Mom to drive the truck up. She was watching with Ben from a spot about a mile down the road.
    “I can’t leave my sled.” The sentry safetied his rifle and slung it over his shoulder. He walked up to Dad and Alyssa, and their conversation dropped in volume so that I couldn’t make out what they were saying.
    They shook hands. Then the sentry reached toward Alyssa’s still-exposed breast. Dad slapped his hand away. They exchanged a few more words I couldn’t make out as Dad pulled Alyssa’s bra and shirts back into place and zipped her coat. I slid down the front side of the roof, trying to hold my rifle ready and keep one eye on the guard.
    By the time I got down, Mom and Ben had pulled up in the UPS truck. The sentry was telling a string of crude jokes to Dad, who laughed and replied with a few of his own.
    Dad introduced the sentry as Chad, talking like he was an old friend. Chad told us to follow him and started his motorcycle. Dad pushed Alyssa into the back of the truck with me, then walked around the front to the driver’s side. Mom scooted over into the passenger seat.
    I mouthed, “You okay?” at Alyssa.
    She responded with the barest hint of a nod.
    Chad led us through Iowa City on a winding series of plowed roads. We