Ashen Winter (Ashfall)

working snowmobiles. And I can’t let you leave.”
    “You can’t let me—?”
    “What?” Rita Mae said. “We’re not letting most refugees stay, and you’re telling this young man he can’t leave?”
    “He’s just a boy!” Kenda said.
    “That doesn’t make it right to hold him against his will,” Rita Mae replied.
    “He’ll get killed wandering around out there on his own.”
    “That’s his choice to make.”
    “I’m going after Darla. Unless you throw me in jail, I’m leaving now.”
    “We don’t even have a jail,” Rita Mae said. “And you need supplies.”
    “And you need my kale seeds. Sell me one of those pickups. And some gas.”
    “We’ve only got two that work,” Kenda said. “We can’t spare one. Or any gas. We’re running out.”
    “You won’t help me go after Darla, don’t have any snowmobiles, won’t sell me a truck—why shouldn’t I take my kale seeds and leave?”
    Kenda started, “Because you’ll get killed out—”
    “Because we need them,” Rita Mae interrupted. “And you need supplies. Guns, ammo, food—”
    “I can’t just let him wander out—”
    “You can’t stop him.” Rita Mae turned to me. “Here’s what you need: a blanket requisition for personal items.”
    “I’m not giving him carte blanche to take anything!” Kenda yelled, exasperation plain in her voice.
    “It’s a fair deal,” Rita Mae said. “Just what supplies he can carry—plus ten gallons of lamp oil for my library.”
    Mayor Kenda shot Rita Mae a look sour enough to spoil milk.
    “I’ll need guns,” I said. “A rifle and a pistol, at least.”
    “A blanket requisition from the mayor will let you pick out whatever you need from the town’s stores.”
    “Fine,” I said, staring down the mayor until she broke the standoff, averting her eyes.
    “Fine,” Mayor Kenda said. “A blanket requisition for personal items in return for all your kale seeds.”
    “And the lamp oil for the library. In return for a thousand kale seeds. Five packets.” I didn’t need the lamp oil, but I figured insisting on it would piss off Mayor Kenda. And she deserved it for threatening to keep me from leaving. It was the least I could do to repay Rita Mae for her support.
    “Five packets? You offered seventeen packets not ten minutes ago.”
    “Sure, for mounting a rescue,” I said. “That deal’s still on the table.”
    “I can’t.” Kenda pulled at her ear.
    “Then you only get five packets.” I took the bundle from Rita Mae, counted out five envelopes, and held them out to Mayor Kenda. “Take it or leave it. Darla doesn’t have time for me to waste arguing.”
    Mayor Kenda took the packets. She scrawled something on a scrap of paper from her desk and signed it. When she held the paper toward me, Rita Mae grabbed it.
    “My lamp oil,” Rita Mae said. She handed the paper back to Kenda.
    Kenda wrote something else on the paper and thrust it at Rita Mae. “Satisfied?”
    “Yep. I’ll see that he gets everything he wants.” Rita Mae ushered me out of the office. As we left, she gestured at the bloody cloth tied around my right arm. “Should check on your wound.”
    “I guess. Earl said it needed stitches.”
    “We’d best visit the fire station, then. Paramedic there, Floyd, has a better hand for stitching up flesh than I do.”
    Floyd did prove to have a deft hand with his needle. He worked fast, too, which was a blessing—getting stitched up without anesthetic isn’t much fun. The needle itself wasn’t all that bad, but the pressure it put on the gouge in my flesh sent flashes of pain up and down my arm and even into my teeth.
    While Floyd worked on my arm, I tried to distract myself by thinking about the supplies I’d need. Skis, guns, a tent, a pack—the list seemed endless. “Can you write a supply list for me?” I asked Rita Mae.
    “Paper’s dear. Just tell me; we’ll remember it.”
    “Okay. Ow!”
    “Sorry,” Floyd said, “almost done. Maybe just two more stitches will do it.”
    Rita Mae and I talked through the supply list while Floyd finished up. He got the wound closed with just four stitches—one for the entrance wound at the back of my arm and three for the exit wound at the front.
    Then Rita Mae led me around the town—starting from the fire station, we went back to City Hall and then to the small downtown business district. The piece of paper signed by Mayor Kenda magically produced whatever we asked for. At our last stop, St.