Ashen Winter

by Mike Mullin

  “If the Peckerwoods had Mom, would you go after her?” I stared my father in the eye.

  “I would.”

  I nodded and tried to fold my arms. Just the attempt hurt my right, so I picked up my shirt instead and started trying to struggle into it.

  “I’ve known your mother twenty-six years. I owe her a different kind of loyalty than you owe a girlfriend.”

  I couldn’t get my right arm jammed through the shirt-sleeve. “Piece of junk!” I tossed it aside.

  “It’s a hard world we live in now,” Dad said mildly.

  “It is the same,” I said. “Exactly the same. If you knew what we’d been through, you’d understand.”

  “Guess you’d better tell us,” Dad said.

  “How’s Rebecca?” Mom asked.

  “She’s okay. Darla and I left her at Uncle Paul’s place. That was, um, almost two weeks ago.”

  Alyssa plucked my shirt out of the snow and helped me get dressed. Ben wanted to watch the guards, and Alyssa didn’t want Ben to be alone, so when she finished helping me, they left. Mom sent Flash with them, instructing him to return in time for dinner. The fact that she’d mentioned dinner was heartening. When Darla and I had been imprisoned in Camp Galena, we’d gotten only breakfast—and not much of that.

  Mom, Dad, and I ducked into one of the tents out of the wind.

  “My brother’s still making out okay?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Doing great. We grow and trade kale—it’s worth a fortune. Get pork from Warren in return.”

  “Why did you leave?” Mom asked.

  “We found Dad’s shotgun. But I’d better start at the beginning.” I told them about the house fire in Cedar Falls that had started my trek over ten months ago. About my thirsty trek across northeastern Iowa. About skiing into Darla’s barn, and how we had come to depend on each other, to fight together for survival. About the times I’d saved her life. The times she’d saved mine. A year ago, death meant I’d have to get my armor repaired in World of Warcraft. Now it was an all-too-real shadow lurking behind the veneer of my daily life. I still wasn’t entirely sure how I’d survived. My parents didn’t interrupt much, but it still took hours to tell the whole story. I finished by telling them about Alyssa and explaining Ben’s autism, which they seemed to take in stride.

  “Ten months.” Dad had clasped his hands together as if in prayer. “It seems like a miracle that you survived all that.”

  “I wouldn’t have without Darla. I’m going to find her. Even if I get killed trying.” I held his eye, making an effort not to blink.

  Dad stared steadily back at me. His eyes were hollow, dark and gaunt, as if the father I’d known had been replaced by a shadowed replica chiseled from the same stone. “It’s going to be hard just to get out of here. We’ve been here, what, four-and-a-half months?”

  “Almost five,” Mom said.

  “Why haven’t you left? Rebecca and I didn’t know if you were even still alive.” I ground my teeth—at Black Lake, at the volcano, at my parents. They clearly weren’t getting enough to eat. Mostly I was angry at myself—why hadn’t I come sooner?

  “You didn’t notice the fence? And guys with guns?” Mom said.

  “We did try,” Dad said. “Twice. Right after we got here. We got caught. Thrown into a punishment hut. I thought they’d let us starve to death in there, but Lester bugged the guards so much that they almost threw him into a hut of his own.”

  “Lester got us released,” Mom said. “He’s very persistent—and a little crazy.”

  “I noticed,” I said.

  “Four days without food and water when you’re already weak is no picnic,” Dad said. “I wasn’t sure we’d survive much longer. So we didn’t try again.”

  “We can’t leave now,” Mom said.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “The girls need us. People started disappearing a few months ago. Not long after I organized the school. Mostly young girls. Every three or four days, we’d get up in the morning and discover more people missing. Whole families sometimes. Sometimes just the girls. I had to do something.”

  “Your mother created a camp organization, civil defense, I guess. They call her The Principal. Talked me into helping.”

  “People are still disappearing,” Mom said. “But not as many as before. And we keep the girls safe.”

  “And the guards tolerate it? Your civil defense organization, I mean?”

  “We’re not sure why. Maybe there’re two factions of guards. One taking girls, and one supposedly in charge. We keep a low profile, but they have to know what’s going on.”

  It all fit. Alyssa being kept as a slave. Darla kept alive, instead of being flensed. The girls disappearing from the camp. I balled my left hand into a fist and punched the floor of the tent, getting nothing but bruised knuckles for the effort. I wanted to punch flesh, feel bones crack under my hands—preferably the bones of whoever was responsible for this whole cursed-to-ash situation. “I’ve got to go after Darla.”

  “I can’t leave,” Mom said. “These girls are depending on me.”

  “We patrol at night and guard the cleared zone around the girls’ tents,” Dad said. “But we can’t watch the whole camp.”

  “Who’s we?” I asked.

  “The prefects,” Dad said. “That was your Mom’s idea.”

  “And I convinced him to be Head Boy,” Mom said.

  Dad sighed heavily. “You’re the only one who calls me that, Janice.”

  “You’ll always be my head boy,” Mom said with a coquettish smile.

  Dad leaned over and smooched her.

  “Um, gross. I’m thrilled to see you and all, but I do not want to watch you make out,” I said. “Who’s taking the girls?”

  Dad broke their kiss. “We don’t know.”

  “It’s got to be the guards,” Mom said.

  “Probably. It’s time for dinner, I think.” Dad pushed himself up into a crouch and shuffled toward the tent flap. Mom got five worn Styrofoam bowls and plastic spoons from a stack in the corner of the tent.

  “They feed you much?” I followed them out.

  “Just enough food to keep us alive, not enough to give us the energy to fight.” Dad kicked a clump of snow.

  “They’ve passed out vitamin pills three times since we’ve been here,” Mom said.

  I shrugged.

  We walked across the camp, rehashing the stories of our individual journeys as we went. A row of field kitchens was set up outside one of the fences. Black Lake mercenaries wearing winter camo were filling bowls and passing them through hatches in the fence in front of each kitchen. Unlike Camp Galena, the refugees here were organized in neat lines. Flash waved at us from one of the other lines, and Mom beckoned him to us.

  Alyssa and Ben came over with Flash. Mom gave each of us bowls and spoons. “Be careful with these,” she said. “It’s hard to get more. I’ve got to go be The Principal.” She walked off to talk to people in the other lines.

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” I muttered.

  “Why?” Alyssa asked. “Flash said it’s not too bad. They get enough to eat, sort of. Everyone has a tent—even if some of them suck.”

  “Are you crazy? Not too bad?”

  “Anything’s better than being chained to a bed in the Anamosa prison.” She glared at me, and I had to look away.

  “I guess it would be,” I said softly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you in such a hurry to get away from me, anyway?”

  I didn’t reply.

  “Darla,” she said, scowling.

  “Yeah. I’m going to escape. I just don’t know how yet.”

  “I can plan an escape,” Ben said. “The guard pattern is suboptimal.”

  “You can?” I asked. “How?”

  “I have several ideas. I need to observe the guard patterns for at least a week to confirm their effectiveness.”

  “A week? I’m leaving tonight.”

  “You
just got to us!” Dad said.

  I didn’t reply. He was right. But finding my parents hadn’t fixed anything. It only made Darla’s absence even more painful.

  “If you attempt to leave without adequate preparation,” Ben said, “you will likely be caught or killed, and your mission will fail.”

  He had a point. Getting myself killed wouldn’t help Darla. But I couldn’t sit around, either. Couldn’t wait while she was . . . while the Peckerwoods—I didn’t even want to think about what might be happening to Darla. Why they were keeping her alive. “I can’t wait a week. She’s in danger.”

  “Maybe I could devise a preliminary operational plan with two days’ observation. More time would be necessary to confirm and optimize it. How many people would be escaping?”

  “Shh,” I said. We were approaching the front of the line, where a bored Black Lake guard slopped wheat gruel into my bowl. They didn’t mark my hand. “How do they keep track of who’s gotten food?” I asked Dad.

  “They don’t. We do,” Dad said as we walked away, eating our gruel. “That’s part of what your mom is off doing. They cook the same amount every meal. If someone takes seconds, someone else goes without.”

  “How many people must I plan for?” Ben asked me again.

  “I don’t think Mom and Dad want to leave,” I said.

  “No,” Dad said, “not until I know the people we’ve promised to protect are safe.”

  I’d helped strangers on the road, helped Uncle Paul and Aunt Caroline on their farm, and saved Alyssa and Ben. But now, when I needed help, everyone except Ben seemed to be allied against me. I wanted to punch something in frustration but knew it wouldn’t do any good. Instead I said as flatly as I could manage, “I’m leaving. Darla needs me.”

  “Absolutely not,” Dad said. “We just found each other. We’re not splitting up now.”

  “Just a second,” I said, glaring at my father. “I found you, not vice versa. And I owe Darla. My life, if it comes to that.”

  “If we could put a stop to the disappearances, be sure the people we promised to protect are safe, we could all try to break out together. But you’re too young to—”

  “I’m not some kid.”

  “Wait, what’s this about people you promised to protect?” Alyssa asked.

  Dad explained the girls’ disappearances to Alyssa. He seemed relieved to change the subject.

  “You need to catch whoever is kidnapping girls?” Ben asked.

  Dad nodded.

  “The goal of an additional operation is to catch the unknown people kidnapping girls?” Ben said.

  “Yes,” Alyssa said.

  “That is an easy tactical problem,” Ben said. “Prepare an ambush. Use whatever the unknown persons want as a lure. Would the Sister Unit suffice as a lure?”

  “No!” Alyssa said. “No way. Forget it. I’m no one’s bait. Not anymore.”

  Chapter 62

  By that night, we’d worn down Alyssa’s resistance. She wandered up and down a deserted corridor between two rows of tents. I listened carefully and caught fleeting glimpses of her through a peephole I’d cut in the back of one of the tents. Alyssa had dressed in the brightest clothing we could find. Dingy, cream-colored pants and a flaming-orange jacket.

  She was a dim candle wrapped in oppressive darkness. Or maybe the night just seemed oppressive because I was so thoroughly trapped: first by the camp and second by Mom and Dad. They wouldn’t leave without protecting the girls, and they forbade me from leaving without them. I didn’t think they could stop me, but I wanted them to come, too. After all, Darla and I had returned to Iowa to find them. And I suspected I’d need all the help I could get to free her.

  Ben was still out observing the guards, preparing an escape plan. If we could figure out who was kidnapping girls and put a stop to it, maybe we could all try to leave together. Dad even assigned two prefects to keep Ben out of trouble.

  Dad and four other prefects were hidden in tents near me. I expected the prefects to be men, but most of them were women. They called Dad The Dean, which seemed weird, but I guessed it was better than Head Boy. Dad had offered me a knife—really a crude shank, made with a sharpened scrap of metal, but I’d turned him down. There weren’t enough knives to go around, and I figured I’d rely on my hands and feet. I knew a bit about knife defense, but I’d never been trained to fight with a knife—that wasn’t something we did at my dojang. My right arm was still sore, but I’d been stretching it—I would be able to use it if I had to.

  Mom hadn’t wanted me to help with the ambush. She’d fought with Dad at length over it. Alyssa finally announced that she wouldn’t serve as bait unless I were there. I hadn’t said anything at all. It didn’t matter what Mom, Dad, or Alyssa said. I’d helped talk Alyssa into trying Ben’s crazy plan, so I needed to be there to try to protect her, regardless of what my parents thought.

  Alyssa paced slowly and endlessly back and forth. I’d tried to nap during the early evening but hadn’t slept well, so I was tired. I started silently counting out the “This Little Piggy” nursery rhyme, tapping my fingers on my knee, both to keep myself awake and to keep track of time.

  More than two hours had passed when Alyssa stopped near my tent. “This isn’t working,” she whispered. “How long do I have to keep doing this?”

  “It won’t work at all if you talk to me,” I hissed back.

  I heard my dad’s voice from another tent. “We’re staying out here until dawn. Now shut up.” His tone shocked me—Alyssa was doing us a favor; she didn’t have to spend her whole night trying to lure an attack.

  Alyssa sighed and resumed pacing. As the night dragged on, her pace slowed. She dragged her feet, trudging as if she were more asleep than awake. I lost count of my This Little Piggies somewhere past two thousand. It had to be nearly dawn.

  I caught myself nodding and bit my lower lip, hard. My knee was numb where I’d been tapping out the nursery rhyme. I returned my attention to the peephole in the tent just in time to see a dark shape collide with Alyssa’s back. She fell into the packed snow and shrieked.

  I lunged down, sliding under the back edge of the tent. I reached Alyssa in seconds. The guy who’d run into her was reaching down toward her. I caught his hand and cranked it into a wrist throw. He cried out, and I stepped forward, over Alyssa, hooking my leg behind his and tossing him to the ground. We were surrounded by my dad and the prefects now, but I didn’t need any help. I allowed myself to fall on top of the guy, placing my elbow against his throat.

  He made a hoarse, choking sound. Dad shook a little hand-powered flashlight—a rare luxury someone had smuggled into the camp and given to The Dean. He shined the beam on the guy’s face. One of the prefects helped Alyssa stand.

  “I think I recognize him,” Dad said. “Let up a little, would you?”

  I took some of the pressure off the guy’s neck. He started coughing and shaking—I could feel his neck convulse against my forearm. When he finished coughing, he began cussing, running through pretty much every one of the words I’d looked up in The American Heritage Dictionary in third grade.

  “Shut up!” Dad barked. I’d never heard him say “shut up” in my life, and now he’d said it twice in one night? “What are you doing out here?”

  “That you, Doug?”

  “Yeah, Deke, it’s me. What’re you doing out here?”

  “Needed to piss something fierce. Ain’t any camp rule against an old man going to the latrine, is there? Anyway, this kid scared it right out of me.”

  I felt dampness against my hip where I was lying on him and caught a whiff of urine. Great. I scrambled up.

  Dad reached down to help him up. “Sorry, Deke,” Dad said gruffly. “Thought you were trying to abduct this girl.”

  “Well. Sorry I ran her over. Too blasted dark to see anything at night.”

  “That’s the truth. Look, Deke, don’t tell anyone we’re out here.”

  “You don’t think it’s one of us taking them girl
s, do you?”

  “Don’t know. Could be. There were psychos in the world before the volcano. Still are, I figure.”

  Deke’s hands were pressed over his groin. “Okay. I’ll keep it quiet.”

  “Pack it in for the night,” Dad said to all of us. “It’s almost dawn, anyway.”

  Alyssa stepped toward me, holding her side.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Just sore from falling. Walk with me? At least as far as your tent?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  Alyssa grabbed my arm for support, and we trudged away in silence. I was too tired to start a conversation, and maybe Alyssa was, too. It felt like a companionable silence with her leaning against my arm, both of us recovering from a long and tense night.

  By the time we got to Dad’s tent, the sky was starting to lighten. Alyssa turned to face me. I saw Dad following us. During the day, Dad used the tent; Mom and another woman slept there at night while Dad patrolled. I cracked open the flap and glanced in. It was empty—Dad told me that Mom often left before dawn to fulfill her duties as The Principal.

  “I think I’ll lie down,” I said.

  “Me, too,” Dad said. “I’m beat.”

  “Um, can I talk to Alex? Alone?” Alyssa gestured at the tent.

  Dad was quiet for a moment as he looked at her. “Yeah. I’ll find somewhere else to nap.”

  “Thanks.” Alyssa pulled the tent flap aside and crawled in.

  It was more than a little annoying. Didn’t I get any say over who got to share my tent? I turned to follow Alyssa.

  Dad caught my arm. “Alex. You did good.”

  “Thanks.” I started to turn away again, but he held on.

  “What you do is your business, but, um . . . we lost one woman in childbirth already.”

  I had to suppress a groan. Uncle Paul had lectured me literally ad nauseum on this subject last year. “We’re just going to talk. Besides, Darla and I—”

  “I know—it’s okay.” Dad pulled me into a brief hug. “I’ll come get you before they quit serving breakfast. You can talk for an hour and a half, maybe two.”

  I rolled my eyes at him and crawled into the tent.