Ashen Winter (Ashfall)

nice.
    “I don’t know how to say this right.” Darla hesitated. “But you do realize that your parents might already be dead?”
    I swallowed hard on the first reply that occurred to me: She was probably right.
    She went on, “If they are dead, we’re taking a big risk going into Iowa looking for them. We could get killed or trapped in another FEMA camp for nothing.”
    “Yeah.” I fell silent for a moment. “But I’ve gotta know for sure.”
    “We might not be able to find out.”
    “What, you don’t want to go? You volunteered—I didn’t ask you. It’s not like I’m dragging you.”
    “That’s not it. You’re not going anywhere without me, doof.”
    I squeezed my arm around her, hugging her tighter.
    “All I was trying to say, trying to do, was to keep your expectations real. We might find them, sure. But they might be dead, or we might never even find out where they are or what happened to them.”
    “Never finding out what happened to them—that might suck worse than finding out they’re dead.”
    “Yeah, it might.” Darla let go of my hand and started stroking my arm, which seemed strange at first but was somehow comforting.
    We lay together in silence. Talking about my parents hadn’t been particularly arousing, but now, with her hair brushing my face, her hands on my arms, and her body stretched out against mine, pressing into, well, everything, I started to get uncomfortably cramped. So I began softly nibbling on her neck.
    Darla closed her eyes and sighed. I moved up to kiss her ear.
    She laughed and pulled her head away. “You know that tickles.”
    “Yeah, but you’re so cute when you giggle.”
    “I do not giggle. Never have, never will.”
    “Whatever.” I bent back toward her neck, but Darla fended me off with a hand.
    “You’ve got to quit giving away kale seeds like a pedophile with lollipops.”
    “Huh?” I said. “Where’d that come from?”
    “We need them to buy information—maybe to buy your parents’ freedom.”
    “I know, but I’ve still got seventeen packets.”
    “We didn’t need to give that bandit anything.”
    “I didn’t exactly give him the seeds—I traded. For information. And look, if we repay brutality with more brutality, how does it end? We do something just a little bit worse every day, and soon enough we’re just like him.”
    “We’ll never be like him.”
    “Maybe not, but we need to cooperate, to rebuild. Someone’s got to start. And why’d you bring it up now?”
    “We could buy other stuff with those seeds, too, you know,” she said in a husky voice.
    “Other stuff?” I asked.
    “Like more condoms, maybe.”
    “Oh,” I said. “Good idea.”
    Darla spun in my arms. Her knee dug into my thigh as she turned, but I was so aware of, um, other parts of her that I barely noticed. She tipped up her head and kissed me.
    When the kiss ended, I said, “I think generosity makes you horny.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Well, last year after we helped Katie and her mom, you pretty much attacked me. And today we helped Ed—saved his life even though we didn’t really want to.”
    “No, it’s stupidity that makes me horny.”
    “That’s good then. I’m plenty stupid.”
    “Yes.” Darla kissed me again. When she came up for air, she said, “You sure are.”
    I smiled and started undressing her. I usually thought the worst part of the winter was the frostbite or risk of starvation. At that moment, the endless layers of clothes seemed worse.
    “So . . . no condoms,” Darla said. “What do you want to do?”
    “I’ll show you.”
    Darla giggled and finished undressing me.

Chapter 13
    Later, Darla lay on top of me, her head resting on my shoulder. Despite the cold, our skin was slick with sweat. I stroked her back slowly, feeling tired and more relaxed than I had since the bandits attacked. “I’ve got something for you,” I said.
    “What?” Darla murmured.
    I pushed a corner of the covers aside and started groping for my pants.
    “Quit letting the cold air in,” Darla said.
    I found what I was looking for in the pocket of my jeans. I pulled my hand into the tunnel of light the oil lamp cast into our cocoon and opened my palm, showing it to Darla. My face felt hot despite the cold air. I searched Darla’s eyes—trying to see any sign that she liked my gift.
    “It’s . . . where’d you get it?” she asked.
    “Belinda gave me the gold chain. I tried to buy it from her, but she said she had extras. I