Ashen Winter (Ashfall)

gate and let you out, Miz Rita. Heck, with how much you fuss with the mayor, I might not be allowed to let you back in. But if he tries to leave, I’ve got to stop him.”
    “We’ll just see about that,” Rita Mae muttered. She yanked on my right arm, clearly forgetting about the gunshot wound.
    “Easy. That hurts,” I hissed under my breath.
    “Sorry. Let’s go talk some sense into Kenda.”
    The leisurely pace Rita Mae had set in reaching the gate was now replaced with a walk so brisk I had to jog to keep up, the pack thumping rhythmically against my back. We crashed through the reception room at City Hall and barged into the mayor’s office without knocking.
    “What is this nonsense about imprisoning this young fellow who’s done us no harm?” Rita Mae yelled. “In fact, he’s done us considerable good by bringing those kale seeds.”
    “Rita Mae, he’s just a kid,” Mayor Kenda replied.
    “I’m sixteen,” I said.
    “Exactly. How can I in good conscience let you go wandering around in that mess outside? You’re going to get killed.”
    “How can you in good conscience keep him locked inside the city?” Rita Mae retorted. “How are we any better than those FEMA goons locking people into their refugee camps, if we do the same thing?”
    “He’s a child, Rita Mae,” Kenda yelled. “Without children we don’t have any future.”
    “Without freedom,” Rita Mae yelled back, “why would we want a future?”
    “Look,” I said, trying to alleviate the shouting match, “can we—”
    “Come on.” Rita Mae grabbed my arm and towed me out of the mayor’s office. She slammed the door so hard the whole wall shook.
    She led me back to her house, muttering all the way about “damn bureaucrats” and “interfering do-gooders.”
    “I’ve got to get out of here.”
    “I know. I’m making a plan.”
    “What?” I asked as we stepped into her living room. I hoped it was a good plan—I didn’t really relish a sixteen-foot drop off the outside of the icy wall.
    “Never mind that. Help me untie this clothesline.”
    A nylon rope was tied just above head height in Rita Mae’s living room, zigzagging five or six times in front of the fire. Rita Mae started taking clothespins off the line while I struggled with the knots. “You know, I have rope in my pack.”
    “You might need that later. Best we use mine for this.”
    “Won’t the guards see us? I don’t want to wait ’til dark.”
    “You let me worry about that.”
    I shrugged and got back to work on the knots. When we finished, we had a coil of good nylon rope about fifty feet long. Rita Mae led me out of the house and to the southeast corner of town, out of sight of the south gate.
    The ice wall ran right through the backyard of a one-story house. A path led to a staircase carved on the inside of the wall. Not far from the staircase a man lay atop the wall, scanning the horizon through his rifle sight.
    Rita Mae pushed through the deep snow near the base of the staircase, whispering, “It was here somewhere. I know it was.” After a minute or two of that, she gestured for me to join her and started digging in the snow. I helped her uncover a hidden tree stump. Rita Mae tied one end of her rope around the stump and tugged hard on it, making sure it was secure.
    “Now, when the time is right,” she whispered, “you run up those steps and use the rope to lower yourself down the far side of the ice wall.”
    “But the guard—”
    “I’ll handle him. Now get your skis and poles secure in one arm so you can manage the rope with the other. And Alex . . .”
    I paused in my preparations. “Yeah?”
    “Take care of yourself.” Rita Mae pulled me into a hug.
    I nodded, but the lump in my throat prevented me from saying anything. I fought down sudden tears.
    The guard still hadn’t noticed us—his attention was focused completely on the world outside the ice wall. Rita Mae released me and tiptoed up the steps. When she reached the top of the wall, she took a step toward him, and he startled, swinging toward her, his rifle at the ready.
    “Rita Mae! Don’t go sneaking up on me like that. I could have shot you!”
    “You’re more of a danger to yourself than to me with that rifle. Now Mr. Chapman, I have important business to take up with you.” Rita Mae’s voice was laden with disapprobation.
    “Well then, get your fool head down while you conduct whatever your business is,” Chapman said. “You’re liable to get