Ashen Winter (Ashfall)

tarp. Clean outdoor air poured over me, and gradually the trembling in my limbs subsided.

Chapter 42
    Something shifted in my backpack, and I heard a clunk behind me. I pulled my head back into the truck. One of my pans had fallen out of the backpack, thunking into a metal truck part I couldn’t identify. I shrugged out of my pack to check it—that pan had been packed securely when I left Worthington.
    Dragging the pack along the road had torn the top flap off and shredded much of its body. I’d packed or tied the most important and useful things at the top, where they would be easy to get at. My rifle and sleeping bag were gone. I’d lost a lot of my food, water, and extra clothing. Three bags of wheat were gone, too. Only the stuff packed at the bottom had stayed put. I inventoried what was left by touch. I had plenty of food, four or five days of drinking water in a wide assortment of old plastic bottles, some extra ammo, a change of clean clothes, a lamp, and a plastic bottle of low-quality lamp oil. I checked my belt—I’d lost the pistol at some point and not even noticed. I was relieved to find that the kale seeds and two bags of wheat I’d packed inside my coat were still there.
    I’d packed a needle and thread in the first-aid kit at the bottom of the backpack. I dug it out and set to work trying to repair my pack. I sat on one of the truck parts and lifted my leg, forcing my boot into the slit in the canvas. That pose was supremely uncomfortable, but it let enough light into the truck to see and kept my hands free for sewing. My hands shook—my muscles were still a limp, noodly mess from being dragged under the truck. Forcing the needle through the nylon with shaking hands was tough, and the thread I had wasn’t really heavy enough, but I managed a crude repair. It would be good enough—I hoped.
    That done, I put my pack back on and started exploring, hoping the truck might contain something useful—maybe even a gun or two. A mountain of frozen flesh filled the front of the load bed, and the truck parts were at the back with me—luckily not the other way around. I navigated here and there by feel. I went all the way around the perimeter of the load bed, winding up back by the tailgate. If there was anything useful in the truck, I hadn’t found it.
    The truck slowed and tilted through a series of turns. Had we been on the road long enough to reach Anamosa? The truck swung through a final, wide arc and stopped. I held my breath, reserving every ounce of energy for listening and trying to figure out what was happening. I heard a gear grind, and the truck lurched into reverse.
    I thought about looking out the back. But if anyone was standing there waiting to unload, I’d be seen for sure. Of course, when they opened the tailgate, it was going to be pretty obvious that some of their meat was still alive and kicking. I started scrambling around the pile, thinking I’d hide behind it.
    The truck stopped again and the engine sputtered off. I froze, only halfway around the pile. I was afraid to move without the engine’s growl to cover any sound I might make. I heard the cab door slam, and a moment later a banging noise like someone beating on a door.
    Everything was quiet for a moment. Ace’s voice broke the silence. “Get some men out here to help me unload the meat,” he yelled. “I need to gas up and get back to Cascade.”
    “Yeah, yeah, hold your pecker a minute,” an unfamiliar voice replied. “Everybody on kitchen duty’s busy making lunch.”
    “Screw that, I’ve got all our meat here, just like Danny wants. I gotta get back and catch some fresh.”
    “Whatever,” the other voice replied.
    “Len!” Ace roared, “Sons of bitches are making us wait. May as well get out and stretch your legs.”
    I heard the truck’s passenger door creak open and then slam. A few moments later, there was a distant scream, abruptly cut short. Who was Len? I’d had no idea there was anyone else in the truck, although I guessed it made sense—nobody with any instinct for self-preservation would travel through this failed and frozen world alone. And what was that scream? More importantly, how was I going to get out of this truck? I could try to get out through the back or sides of the truck by cutting more holes in the canvas. But I wasn’t sure exactly where Len and Ace were, and I was certainly better off avoiding a face-to-face meeting with them.
    I resumed moving around the perimeter,