Ashen Winter (Ashfall)

fatigues—wrote on old sheets of copy paper.
    One of the guards searched us. I had a brief moment of panic when he patted my chest, feeling the pockets that held my kale and wheat, but the packages must have been soft enough not to arouse suspicion—he didn’t investigate further. Other than that, we had nothing to take. My backpack was still in the truck we’d taken from the Peckerwoods. As far as I knew, Alyssa and Ben had only the clothes on their backs.
    Captain Alverman interviewed us in a bored monotone voice, jotting our names in tiny handwriting on a sheet of copy paper already packed with names. I remembered the printed list of refugees’ names Rita Mae had shown me. Now there were no computers or printers visible. Evidently things were getting worse—even for Black Lake.
    When Alverman finished, his guards escorted us out the front of the WalMart. On the far side of the road there was a huge enclosure built from chain-link fence—it stretched so far in either direction that I couldn’t see the whole thing. It was easily as big as Camp Galena had been, and that place had held almost fifty thousand people. The fence was twelve feet high, not counting the coil of razor wire topping it. It looked identical to the fence Black Lake had built at Camp Galena—the one Darla had pretty much destroyed with a bulldozer as we escaped. I would never have escaped that camp by myself. But this time I was on my own.
    As we got closer, I saw a pair of guards patrolling a well-worn path in the snow around the outside of the fence. Each of them carried an assault rifle.
    We approached a tiny guard shack just outside a gate. One of our guards got a key from the guy in the shack and unlocked the gate. Another cut the plastic handcuffs off us and pushed us through. I rubbed my right arm, trying to work the painful kinks out of my shoulder.
    Uneven rows of tents stretched out across the camp before us. Some were canvas tents like the ones in Camp Galena last year, but these seemed dirtier, more ragged. Many of them bore makeshift patches made with scraps of plastic. None of them rested on platforms—and I knew from experience how cold the frozen ground would be.
    And not everyone had a real tent. Some of the shelters were just chunks of plastic propped up on sticks. I saw a few that weren’t even plastic—instead made of old bedspreads. I guessed they’d at least keep the wind out. Hundreds of people were visible, talking in small groups or milling around. Thousands more must have been huddled in their tents, trying to escape the bitter wind.
    Before we could figure out what to do, an Asian kid who looked to be about twelve broke away from a group nearby and strode up to us. Well, up to Alyssa. He raked his eyes up and down her. Not that there was much to see—she was bundled in winter clothes like everyone else. But the clothing and dirt somehow didn’t dim her beauty, just cloaked it.
    “Welcome to Camp Maquoketa,” the kid said. The name of the camp rocketed through my mind. My parents might be here. How would I find them amid this multitude? “You need to go to The Principal’s office, girlie.”
    “The principal?”
    The kid gave me an annoyed look. “Not you, her. She’s so hot I can warm my hands off her.” He held out his gloved hands and rubbed them as if he were in front of a campfire.
    I started to step between him and Alyssa, but she held me back with a hand on my arm.
    “That’s so sweet,” Alyssa said in a syrupy voice. “What’s your name?”
    “Flash, The. Shaken and stirred. At your service, girlie.”
    Alyssa took one of his hands in hers. “Nice to meet you, Flash. My name’s Alyssa. What do you mean, the principal’s office?”
    I eyed Flash. He didn’t seem to be a threat, but maybe he was working with someone else. Ben was completely absorbed in watching the two guards as they patrolled outside the fence. He was mumbling something too quietly for me to understand.
    Flash had a goofy grin on his face. The hand Alyssa held was visibly shaking with excitement. He still hadn’t answered her question.
    “Who’s the principal?” she said.
    “She looks after all the pretty girls. So they don’t disappear. Well, mostly they don’t.”
    “Disappear?” I asked.
    “Come with me,” Flash said, still addressing Alyssa. “I’ll show you around. Make introductions, as they say.” He was totally butchering a James Bond accent. He started pulling on her hand, leading her toward