Ashen Winter (Ashfall)

she stood bottomless in the frozen air. Her bare feet were porcelain white, streaked with blue. She set them in the snow without protest—obviously she couldn’t feel her feet at all. I had maybe a minute before she started to get frostbite, and not much longer than that before the hypothermia would kill her.
    I stripped off my boots as fast as I could and squatted on them to keep my socks dry while I pulled off my coveralls.
    I jammed Darla’s feet into my coverall. She was so far gone now I had to lift each foot and put it in the pant leg for her. I had two pairs of socks on, a wool outer pair and some nylon liners. I stripped off my wool stocks and forced them over Darla’s feet. My boots didn’t fit right without the thick wool socks and my toes hurt terribly, but I figured that was a good sign. If they quit hurting, I’d know I was in trouble.
    I thought about what to do with Darla’s feet. If I left her in socks, her feet would get wet from the snow. But her boots were sopping. I wrapped my hand in the dry part of her long johns and pushed it up into her boots to try to dry them. I don’t know if it helped much, but it was the best I could do. I put the wet boots back on her feet and tied the laces.
    “Come on, Darla,” I said. “You’ve got to run now.”
    She started to shamble into the snow at the edge of the foxhole. I threw an arm around her waist to stop her.
    “No, just run in place. We’ve got to stay hidden until dark.” It wouldn’t be long. The day was already fading.
    Darla lifted one foot and set it back down.
    “Faster.” I wanted to yell, but I knew I shouldn’t. Black Lake might have people out looking for us.
    Darla started stepping desultorily in place. She lurched from side to side as if drunk, her balance so bad that I kept both hands on her waist, ready to catch her if she started to fall over.
    “That’s it. Faster, Darla, faster.”
    She started moving more quickly. I concentrated on holding her upright and trying to jog in place without kicking her. When she started shivering again, I breathed a sigh of pure relief.
    “W-w-what now?” she asked.
    “It’s maybe an hour ’til full dark. We can sneak out of here then and head back to Uncle Paul’s farm.”
    “N-n-no.”
    “What do you mean, no? We just lost all our supplies. It’s going to get even colder after dark. I don’t even know if we can survive tonight. We might have to turn ourselves in to Black Lake. Better to wind up in a FEMA camp than frozen to death.”
    Darla didn’t reply. Instead, she started running in place faster. She was shivering hard—her arms made unpredictable spastic movements. I backed off a little so I wouldn’t get brained.
    We ran for fifteen or twenty minutes. Darla steadily picked up her pace, while I stuck with a comfortable, warming jog. Her shivering gradually subsided. She started pumping her arms instead of waving them around, and her teeth quit clattering.
    Without any warning, she spun back toward me and quit running. “We are not going back, Alex. We’re going forward.”
    “Bikezilla’s at the bottom of the Mississippi with all our supplies.”
    “I know. You still have the kale seeds?”
    “Yeah, and the wheat, but even if we ate all of them, they’d only last a few days.”
    “Not to eat, to trade.”
    “Yeah, that’s what I’m trying to say. We hoof it back to Warren, trade the seeds, and get outfitted for another expedition.”
    “No—we go forward to Worthington and resupply there.”
    “How do you know anyone’s still in Worthington? They might all be dead—or locked in FEMA camps.”
    “They might be.” Darla’s shoulders hinted at a shrug. “But they’re my people—I know them. They’re farmers, used to coming through hard knocks and bad weather. They were already well organized last year. They had water and were digging corn. If anyone’s still alive and free in Iowa, it’s the folks in Worthington.”
    “And the bandit gangs, and Black Lake—”
    “I never thought this trip would be easy.”
    “Look, I don’t even know how we’re going to survive tonight , let alone get to Worthington.”
    “You still have a hatchet and knife?”
    “Yeah, on my belt. But we need a fire, and the flint went down with Bikezilla.”
    “We’re okay then. With a knife and hatchet, we’ve got fire.”
    “How?”
    “Easier to show you. And we should wait for dark and get someplace farther away from the lock, so Black Lake won’t spot the