Ashen Winter (Ashfall)

you’re talking about.”
    “Alex and Darla are leaving in the morning.” Uncle Paul frowned. “One of those bandits had Blue Betsy.”
    “What? No.” Aunt Caroline sloshed water across Max’s face, and he spluttered. “There’s no way we can keep up with all the work without Alex and Darla. And what if we get attacked again? What if they attack the house next time?”
    “We’ll have to manage,” Uncle Paul replied. “We can board up all the windows on the ground floor, put bars on the doors, too.”
    “Your leg isn’t completely healed from the fall and—”
    “I’ve been off the crutches for more than a month, hon,” Uncle Paul said, clearly exasperated.
    “I know, but you’re still limping.”
    “Not much. The muscles are weak, that’s all. It’s getting better.”
    “They’re still kids. We can’t let them go running around in this mess—they’ll get killed.”
    “I’m eighteen.” Darla folded her arms over her chest. “And Alex isn’t a kid anymore, whatever his age.”
    “Why do you guys keep talking about Alex and Darla?” Rebecca said. “I’m going, too.” She folded her arms, mimicking Darla so closely that it might have been funny except for her grim expression.
    “Rebecca, no.” I said, as gently as I could manage.
    She turned on me. “You think it was fun, waiting for you last year? Thinking you were dead? And then Mom and Dad left, and I thought I’d lost everyone, my whole family, gone. I’m not going through that again.”
    “I know it’s hard,” I said, “but Aunt Caroline is right—she and Uncle Paul need help. Darla and I wouldn’t be leaving now except for that shotgun.”
    “Darla can stay. They’re not her parents.”
    “I’m going,” Darla said flatly.
    “Then I am, too,” Rebecca said, although she sounded far less certain than Darla.
    I shook my head, scowling. I understood how she felt—I didn’t like being treated like a kid, and really, none of us were kids anymore. We spent our time struggling to survive, not going to school or playing games. But if she got hurt—or God forbid, killed—looking for our parents, I’d never forgive myself.
    Rebecca looked down and whispered, “I . . . don’t want to be alone again.”
    “I know.” I pulled her into a hug. “But you won’t be alone. You’ll take care of Max and Anna. And help your aunt and uncle.”
    “Yeah,” she murmured, holding onto me. “But you better come back.”
    “You and Darla had best get some sleep,” Uncle Paul said. “Caroline and I will get your packs ready. I’ll wake you before dawn.”
    I let go of Rebecca, and Darla took my hand, pulling me toward the kitchen. “Let’s get washed up.”
    That night, I lay awake in bed for more than an hour. Darla was on one side of me; Rebecca, Max, and Anna on the other. My aunt and uncle still hadn’t come to bed. The kids called out or moaned occasionally in their sleep—nightmares, I assumed.
    From her breathing, I could tell Darla wasn’t sleeping, either. I put an arm over her shoulder and hugged her closer. “You okay?” I whispered.
    Her body heaved and she choked back a sob.
    “It’s okay,” I whispered. “Shh. You don’t have to be tough all the time.”
    “I . . . I never killed anyone before.”
    “I know.” I stroked her back.
    “It’s not like killing a rabbit or pig.”
    “No.”
    “Does it get better?”
    I thought about Ferret and Target—bandits I’d killed during our escape from Iowa last year. They still occasionally starred in my own nightmares. “No.”
    Darla snuggled against my shoulder. I couldn’t hear her crying, but I felt the tears washing my neck. It was a long time before she fell asleep.
    My side ached and my thoughts raced. I stared into the darkness, thinking about my trip from Cedar Falls last year, about all the people who’d helped me during my journey.
    My thoughts turned to Mom and Dad. I couldn’t call up a clear picture of either of them. I mean, I knew what they looked like, but the images were blurry. I lay awake, struggling to remember my parents’ faces until Uncle Paul called to me in the grayness just before dawn.

Chapter 4
    We ate a huge breakfast. Duck eggs scrambled with kale from our farm and ham we’d gotten in trade from Warren. Everyone was silent, like they had so much to say, they couldn’t decide where to start. It made me uncomfortable, so I wolfed my food and excused myself.
    Bikezilla’s load bed was packed with bags and