Ashen Winter (Ashfall)

and gets damaged the worst. I kept the pedal mashed to the floor.
    The guy in the passenger seat of the Peckerwoods’ truck had his pistol out, firing at me as we approached. I ducked under the dashboard. I couldn’t see a thing, but all I had to do was keep our truck straight. I heard the pop-pop of his pistol twice more.
    And then there was a tremendous crash.

Chapter 52
    I was thrown against the steering wheel, but the lap belt kept me from flying farther. Our truck was at a dead stop. I slowly leaned back.
    The Peckerwoods’ truck was about forty feet ahead of us, upside down across the road. It was wrecked. The cover over the load bed was crushed so that the truck was tilted, its nose thrust into the air. Every window had shattered and the doors hung open. I couldn’t see any movement inside.
    Alyssa and Ben were curled over and squeezed together by their shared seat belt. “Are you okay?” I asked. Alyssa sat back. Ben’s eyes were glassed over—he looked dazed. A cut on his forehead was bleeding heavily. A trickle of blood snaked into the corner of his eye. He blinked twice and started screaming—howling, really—in a way I hadn’t heard since kindergarten.
    “Is he hurt really bad?” I reached toward Ben.
    Alyssa batted my hand away. “I got it. You touch him, you’ll just make it worse.” She turned back to Ben, talking to him in a calm, firm voice. “Ben, let me check your cut. I can fix it.” She was bent low but not facing him, sort of talking in his ear. She pulled off one of her gloves, balled it up, and started brushing it down his arm. He kept screaming.
    I saw movement in the Peckerwoods’ truck. The driver was hanging upside down by his seat belt. He slid out of the belt and started dragging himself through the door. He was bleeding and didn’t appear to be armed, but I didn’t want to hang around and find out for sure.
    I mashed in the clutch and pushed the starter button. The truck chugged for a moment and then roared to life.
    My right arm had frozen up. I had to reach across my lap with my left arm to operate the gearshift. I was shaking so badly that I wasn’t sure I could do it at all. Somehow I managed it without stalling the truck—maybe I was getting better at driving.
    Ben was still screaming, and Alyssa was still brushing him. “You have any bandages?” Alyssa asked.
    “There’s a first-aid kit in my backpack,” I said. She quit brushing Ben and pulled my backpack out from under the seat.
    The Peckerwood’s driver was now clear of their truck. I eased my foot onto the gas, and we slowly rolled forward. It didn’t look like our truck would fit around the wreck, but I didn’t want to turn around. For one thing, I was afraid more trucks might be headed our way from Anamosa. And for another, I didn’t know if I could manage a three-point turn.
    “Watch out,” I said to Alyssa, who was still rummaging through my backpack.
    “I found it.” She twisted and sat, clutching the plastic case that held my first-aid supplies. Ben was still screaming.
    I mashed the accelerator, racing toward the tiny gap between the wreck and the snow berm. The driver looked up in alarm and scrambled away on all fours. We struck the edge of the cab, barely registering the impact. The wrecked truck spun when we hit it, and we shot free, accelerating south away from the accident and the Peckerwoods.

Chapter 53
    Within minutes, Ben quieted down considerably. Alyssa had a gauze pad in one hand, mopping his forehead. With the other, she was brushing him continuously with her glove. She talked to him in a patient, straightforward voice. “It’s okay. I’m going to put everything back the way it should be. You’re going to be fine.”
    “Ben’s blood belongs on the inside,” he said.
    “Yes, it does. I’m going to wrap your head up now to keep it there.” Alyssa had wiped away enough blood to expose a long cut along his forehead. She started bandaging it, using strips of medical tape to hold the wound closed and covering it all with gauze.
    We came to an intersection, and I turned left. I planned to drive east a ways then turn north, looping back to Anamosa by a different route. Once I got close, I’d head back to the prison on foot and give the truck to Alyssa and Ben. They could find their own way to Worthington. I had to keep searching for Darla.
    I squeezed the steering wheel tighter, wondering if Worthington was still even standing. Maybe Alyssa and Ben would arrive to