Ashen Winter (Ashfall)

don’t care. Worthington, if they’re still holding out.”
    “I can’t waste that much time. I’ve got to find Darla. And if you don’t want to wait for the Peckerwoods, we’ve got to get out of here.”
    “Why didn’t you shoot Clevis? It might have been a couple days before the Peckerwoods sent anyone out to check on him.”
    My face grew hot. “I don’t know. I couldn’t.”
    “He would have shot you without a second thought. Or done something even worse.”
    “I’m not like him.”
    The girl shook her head. “What planet are you from? And what’s your name, anyway?”
    “Alex.” I wasn’t sure what to say to the first question. I reached out to Ben, intending to check the lock on his wrist. The girl caught my hand and held it. “What?” I asked.
    “Don’t. He doesn’t like to be touched.”
    “You’re touching him.”
    “Brushing. I told you.”
    “I was just going to check the locks on his cuffs. I might have the key.” I dangled the key ring I’d snatched from the corpse.
    She took the ring from me and used a tiny silver key to unlock Ben’s ankle and wrist cuffs. Then she tossed the chains away. “Thanks,” she said, handing the keys back to me.
    “Why doesn’t he talk?”
    “Like I said, he doesn’t want to. If he decides to talk to you, you won’t be able to shut him up.”
    “What’s wrong with him?”
    “Nothing!”
    “Sorry. Look, we need to get out of here before Clevis gets back to the prison and sends out the cavalry. We can loop around, drop me near Anamosa, and then you can take the truck wherever you want to go.” I started shuffling toward the tailgate. My body had stiffened as we talked—even walking hurt now.
    “You should have shot him.” Alyssa followed me, Ben trailing behind.
    “He might not make it to Anamosa,” I said as I climbed down from the tailgate. “I think he broke some ribs in the crash, and I shattered his right arm pretty good.”
    “You did that?” Alyssa hurried to get alongside me as I limped toward the driver’s door.
    “Yeah. He was trying to shoot me. Remember?”
    “Hmm,” she said, looking thoughtful.
    I pulled open the driver’s door, threw my pack on the bench seat, and climbed in after it. “I don’t know if I can drive this thing. I’ve never driven anything but an automatic.”
    “Me, neither.”
    I dug a spare shirt out of my pack and handed it to Alyssa. “Clean off the front windshield, would you?”
    “Sure.” She took my shirt, climbed onto the front fender, and started wiping the oil off the windshield.
    I took the keys out of my pocket and looked for the ignition. I couldn’t find it. There was no keyhole anywhere.
    “Won’t it start?” Alyssa asked when she finished the windshield.
    “I don’t know,” I said, staring at the gearshift. “The gears aren’t even marked on here. And there’s no place to put a key.”
    If Darla were in the driver’s seat, we’d have been rolling down the road at top speed by now. The dashboard was confusing, covered in labels, symbols, signs, dials, and gauges. After a moment, a handle to the left of the steering wheel caught my eye—it was labeled Off and Ignition. I turned it, and the truck started making a low whine, but it didn’t start.
    “What’s that?” Alyssa said.
    “I don’t know.”
    “It doesn’t sound good. Turn it off.”
    I cranked the handle back to Off, and the whine died.
    “Let Ben look at it. He’s into military stuff.”
    Alyssa stepped off the running board and held the door open for Ben.
    “What do you know about this truck?” Alyssa asked him.
    “It’s an M35A2,” Ben replied. His voice was deep, which surprised me after his high-pitched moaning. But it still sounded odd, flat. “A multifuel model. That means you can drive it on gasoline, diesel, vegetable oil, heating oil, or jet—”
    “Focus, Ben.” Alyssa interrupted. “I don’t need to know everything about it. How do you start it?”
    “Turn on the ignition.” Ben pointed to the same handle I’d turned. “Then push the starter button.” He leaned into the cab, pointing at a button I’d missed to the right of the steering wheel.
    I cranked the ignition handle over, starting the whine again. Then I mashed the starter button under my thumb. The truck roared to life.
    Ben clapped his hands over his ears and stepped down from the running board.
    I jammed the clutch to the floor under my left foot and fiddled with the shifter. I wasn’t sure if it was