Ashen Winter (Ashfall)

corner.
    The patched skylight was directly above the makeshift fire pit. A long string with a loop tied in the end dangled from the metal patch. I tugged on the string experimentally—the patch proved to be a metal cover on a spring-loaded hinge. When I pulled it fully open, the loop in the string would just reach a nail jutting from the wall. It was an ingenious setup—you could open the hatch to let smoke out or close it to keep the heat in, all without having to reach the high, sloped ceiling. People had clearly been living here since the eruption. The only question: Were they still here?
    I eased through the entire house, quietly checking every room. Some held furniture and belongings, but much of what I found was broken, ruined, or frozen. I saw lots of signs that people had lived here, but none that they’d been around recently. Where had they gone? And why? I even investigated the basement, returning to the truck to get a candle so I could peer into the dark corners around the dead furnace. This place was abandoned.
    I went back outside to get the others. The truck was on the opposite side of the house from the road—not exactly hidden, but it was the best I could do. When I tried to help Ben out of the truck, Alyssa waved me away. It didn’t seem like she helped him much, just offered a shoulder that he leaned on for support as they trudged inside.
    I built a fire in the kitchen while Alyssa unwrapped Ben’s ankle and struggled to take off his boot. His ankle was hugely swollen and red. We weren’t sure how to tell if it was broken, so we decided to rewrap it for support but leave his boot off. We probably couldn’t have gotten it back on him, anyway.
    I searched Clevis’s pack. He had a couple of two-liter plastic bottles full of water that had stayed liquid, warmed by the heater in the truck; a bundle of corn pone wrapped in paper; a plastic bag filled with dried meat; a few matches; and a small first-aid kit. I tossed the meat into the snow outside. No way would I eat any meat that came from a flenser’s backpack.
    Alyssa filled one of my pans with snow and put it on the fire to melt. Ben asked to use my hatchet. I handed it over, and he crawled to the woodpile and started breaking up the branches, sorting them by size.
    I was starving, so I worked on lunch. Cornmeal mush with dandelion greens and bits of beef jerky—my gourmet specialty. While I worked, I tried to find out more about Alyssa.
    “How long have you two been with the Peckerwoods?”
    “Been slaves, you mean?” Alyssa said. “Almost four months.”
    “Why’d they keep you around?” I wanted to ask why the Peckerwoods hadn’t killed and eaten them both, but that hardly seemed polite.
    “I did stuff for them.” Alyssa wrapped her arms around her chest, hugging herself.
    “Stuff? Like what?”
    Alyssa’s face turned red, but judging from her expression, she was angry, not embarrassed. “Like—none of your business.”
    Oh. That kind of stuff. Suddenly I thought of Darla, held captive by the same men. I choked my words out through grinding teeth. “Sorry. And Ben . . .?”
    “I told Danny I’d kill myself if he hurt Ben. And I convinced him he didn’t want me to kill myself.” Alyssa’s face was cold—hard and red as a brick.
    “But he was sending you to Iowa City?”
    “The Peckerwoods are running out of food and gas. I guess they got a good price for me.” Alyssa shrugged. “And Danny has a new girl he got from the Peckerwoods in Cascade. He likes short brunettes. Guess she’s that Darla you told me about.”
    My face grew hot, and I ground my teeth into fury. I thrust my hand into my pocket, gripping the chain ’til it cut my fingers. I had to get moving. Had to get back to Anamosa. Had to find Darla.

Chapter 55
    Alyssa backed up a step, eyeing me warily. “I . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . it didn’t look like she was hurt too bad.”
    “What’ll they do to her?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
    Alyssa shied away from me. “Nothing good.”
    “I’ve got to get back to Anamosa.” I started to push myself upright but made the mistake of trying to use my right arm. Pain reverberated through my arm and chest, and I crumpled, falling alongside the fire.
    Alyssa knelt beside me and pulled off my right glove. “Why do you want to get killed over her? Who is she?”
    “Darla. She’s my . . .” Girlfriend didn’t seem to cover it. I struggled to think of a word that did. “She’s the