Ashen Winter (Ashfall)

I must have winced, because Darla said, “How’s your side?”
    “It’s fine,” I replied.
    “Let me check it. I should change the bandage, anyway.”
    “I’m fine. Let’s see what else Belinda wants us to do.”
    “After I check your bandage.”
    I sighed, sank into a chair, and started taking off clothing.
    When Darla began removing the bandages from my side, I bit back a scream. I knew it would hurt—it had ever since I’d been shot, but not this badly. The three puncture wounds were swollen and oozing puss. Red streaks radiated from my side like cobwebs.
    “Wait here,” Darla said.
    Dr. McCarthy took one look at it and said, “Cellulitis manifesting as severe erythema.”
    “Ery-what?” I asked.
    “The puncture wounds are infected.”
    “Can you treat it?” Darla asked.
    “Yes . . .”
    “But?” I asked.
    Dr. McCarthy shook his head. “But nothing, just a sec,” he said and left the room. When he returned, he was carrying seven large white pills and a cup of water. “Take one now and one every day until they’re gone. Should take two a day, but I don’t have enough for that.”
    There was writing on the pills, but I couldn’t make it out in the low light of the lantern. “What are they?”
    “Cipro. Full-spectrum antibiotic.”
    “That must have been hard to come by.” I took the glass of water and swallowed a pill, feeling the lump it made as it passed down my throat.
    “There’s a guy in Galena dealing in it. I don’t know where he gets it—I suspect he has access to the government stockpile.”
    “Why’d the government stockpile it?” Darla asked.
    “It’s one of the best treatments for anthrax. The stockpile was a civil defense measure.”
    “How much do you have left?” I asked.
    “Six tablets.”
    I picked up my jacket from the floor and pulled the bag of envelopes holding the kale seeds out of the inner pocket. I extracted two envelopes.
    Darla glared at me.
    “Use one of these to buy more Cipro,” I told Dr. McCarthy as I handed them over. “I don’t want anyone to go without because of me. I owe you one envelope for Ralph’s medical care.”
    Dr. McCarthy carefully tucked the seeds into his coat, frowning. “Thank you. But I’m going to repay your generosity in about the worst way possible. I need to clean and debride those wounds.”
    “Debride?” I asked.
    “Cut the dead flesh away.”
    “That’s not going to feel particularly pleasant, is it?”
    “Nope. Probably be the worst pain you’ve ever felt. I’ve been out of anesthetics for months, and buying more just isn’t as important as antibiotics, fever-reducers, antiseptics, and the like.”
    I didn’t trust my voice not to quaver, so I nodded.
    “If you’re lucky, you’ll pass out. We can numb your side up a bit with snow.”
    “I’ll get some,” Darla offered.
    “Get the cleanest snow you can find,” Dr. McCarthy said. “Fill one of the small buckets from the supply room. I’ll sterilize my scalpels.”
    While I waited for them to return, my mind wandered back to the last time I’d been in a hospital, before the volcano. I’d biked to taekwondo and forgotten my keys. Nobody was home when I got back, so instead of waiting, I tried to break into my own house. I pushed the lower sash of one of our old-style storm windows inward, and the upper sash fell, snapping my arm at the wrist.
    I called Mom, and she hurried home from a PTO board meeting to take me to the hospital. She prowled the waiting room like a caged animal, pacing until we were finally taken to an exam room. There she quizzed everyone who came near us about the best treatments for broken bones, the advantages of a sling versus a cast, and how to spot infection. Pretty soon, all the nurses were avoiding us.
    When we finally got home, Dad glanced at my brand-new cast, said, “Looks good,” and turned back to his movie. My parents. They drove me crazy, but I still missed them desperately.
    Darla returned to the exam room. I lay on my side on the hard metal table and bit down on Dr. McCarthy’s leather-wrapped stick. Darla packed snow over my wounds. She left the snow there until my side felt frozen and totally numb. But it wasn’t. Darla sat on my legs to keep me steady, but when Dr. McCarthy started carving on my side, I bucked so hard she nearly fell off.
    I hoped, wished—prayed, even—that I’d pass out. No luck. I heard a muffled trumpeting sound and was puzzled for a moment before I realized it was me,