Ashen Winter (32 page)

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 girls, 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.

Alyssa was sitting on a makeshift pile of rags and blankets. Her jacket was off. As I entered, she was pulling her sweater off. She stretched sinuously, thrusting her chest out. I couldn’t help but stare.

When her head popped free of the sweater, Alyssa caught me staring and smiled. I moved my focus back to her face, but it nearly took more willpower than I had to succeed.

“What did you want to talk about?” I asked.

“When that guy, Deke, ran into me, you were the first one there.” Under the sweater Alyssa had on a heavy, long-sleeved flannel shirt. Not in the least bit sexy—until she started slowly unbuttoning it.

“I was trying to stay alert—that’s . . . that’s really distracting.”

As Alyssa unbuttoned the flannel shirt, its plackets fell open, revealing a form-fitting, lacy scarlet shirt beneath. “What? This?” She took a deep breath.

“Um, yeah.” I reached one hand out to her collar and held her overshirt closed.

She placed a hand over mine. “That guy didn’t stand a chance. He was a foot taller and probably fifty pounds heavier, and you took him down with one move.”

I shrugged. I could pull my hand away from hers, but then her overshirt would fall open again. A growing part of me wanted to let go of her shirt and not pull away, let it fall open, and see what would happen next.

“You could have killed him.”

“I wouldn’t—”

She lifted my pointer finger and took it between her lips, biting gently. The supple warmth of her lips drove whatever I’d been about to say from my mind. She cupped her other hand behind my neck, pulling me closer. I was clay, moldable into whatever shape Alyssa wanted. She released my finger from between her teeth and moved my hand, sliding it beneath her overshirt until it rested on her left breast.

“Alyssa, I—”

She bent forward and kissed me. Suddenly I was kissing her back, and she moaned, and my hand clutched at her breast, far harder than Darla would have liked.

Darla.

I pushed Alyssa away, a little harder than I meant to. She rocked back on the bedding.

“What?” she said.

“I don’t want—”

“I can clearly see that you
do
want.” She reached, and I grabbed her wrist, stopping her hand inches from my groin.

“Yeah, look. He does what he wants to, not what I tell him to.” I moved her hand farther from the, um, body part in question. “But I love Darla.”

Her lips formed an insanely hot pout. “You can still love her. I wasn’t proposing marriage, you know.”

I shook my head sadly. “I can’t.”

“It’s not like she’d ever know. Even if you do find her. Even if you don’t get killed.”

“I’d know.”

Alyssa’s face crumpled. “You could learn to love me,” she whispered, her eyes brimming with sudden tears.

“Maybe I could have, if I’d met you first. But I didn’t,” I said more gently.

A tear left a glistening trail down her cheek.

What was going on? Her moods shifted gears faster than a NASCAR driver in traffic. I was a jumble. Horny, guilty for making her cry, and angry that she’d put me in this position—all at the same time. “It’s okay,” I said, hugging her in what I hoped was a brotherly fashion. “Don’t cry.” That made her start sobbing for real.

I held her and patted her back until her crying fit ran out. When she seemed calmer, I started buttoning her overshirt back up.

“I’m sorry,” Alyssa said. “I’m not really a slut or anything.”

“I never said you were.”

“Ben and me, we’ve been on our own for five months, ever since Mom and Dad were killed, and it’s, I don’t know, I feel . . . maybe lonely sometimes. I mean, I love my brother, but it’s just the two of us. And sometimes I could get the Peckerwoods to do stuff for me, if I did stuff for them, but that wasn’t . . . I only got more lonely. And so I thought that you and me . . . it would be great to have something real.”

“You do have something real.” I clasped her hand in mine. “We’re friends, okay?”

“Okay.” Alyssa pulled her sweater back on. “Do you think maybe I could stay here while we nap? Just as friends?”

“Yeah. That’d be okay, I guess.” I lay down on my back on Dad’s bedroll. Alyssa snuggled against my side, one hand flung over my chest. In seconds, her breathing evened and slowed. I lay awake, staring at the canvas ceiling until Dad called us for breakfast.

Chapter 63

I finally got a few hours of fitful sleep after breakfast. A draft of frozen air woke me, and I peered out from under my bedding, bleary-eyed. My mother was holding the tent flap open and peeking in.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay. I wasn’t sleeping that well, anyway.”

“I just . . . I had to look at you. To make sure I didn’t dream up yesterday.”

“I’m too sore to be part of your dream, Mom.” I pushed aside the layers of blankets and reached for my overcoat.

Mom brought me a pail of water so cold that a rim of ice had already formed at its edges. I brushed my teeth with Dad’s toothbrush. Icy spikes of cold stabbed my hands and face as I washed. When I finished, Mom took me to see her school.

Several clear plastic tarps were hung from poles in the center of the camp, forming a rough tent about fifteen feet square. Mom pushed aside the corner of the plastic and gestured for me to enter. Inside, about a dozen students, mostly girls, sat in a circle around the perimeter of the tent. A rangy, gray-haired woman stood in the center, reading from a warped copy of
To Kill a Mockingbird
.

“Melba,” Mom said, “this is my son, Alex.”

The woman looked up. “Pleased to meet you. Will you be joining our class?”

“I’ve already read that book,” I said.

“If you don’t mind,” Mom said, addressing Melba, “maybe Alex could teach this section? A self-defense seminar? He’s got a black belt in taekwondo.”

“Certainly.” Melba closed and pocketed her book.

“You could have given me a little warning,” I whispered to Mom.

“You’ll do fine.”

I stepped into the center of the makeshift room. “Saved by the sub, huh? There’s nothing more boring than English.” I looked around. Nobody was smiling.

Melba stared daggers at me. “Let’s welcome Mr. Halprin properly,” she said, extending her hand.

I reached to shake her hand, but she clasped my thumb instead and did a little stutter step, moving closer to me and bending my arm. Her other hand grabbed my elbow, her foot hooked mine, and suddenly I was flat on my back staring up at her.

“That,” Melba said, “is what is colloquially referred to as a ‘chicken wing.’ My English classes are not
boring
, Mr. Halprin. And I also teach a judo seminar.”

A chuckle passed around the room, and I felt my face flush. “Sorry, I should have warned you,” Mom said. Melba held out her hand to help me up, but I rolled instead, coming up in a defensive stance.

“Good throw,” I said. “You know the counter?”

Melba nodded.

“Let’s demonstrate it,” I held out my hand again, and we worked through the counter-move in slow motion. Taekwondo doesn’t emphasize throws the way judo does, so Melba was better at them, but now that I was prepared, I mostly held my own. Soon I was into the rhythm of the class: demonstrating moves with Melba, coaching students, and pairing them off to practice.

I called a short break after about a half hour. “I’ve got to go check on the other classes,” Mom said.

“There are more?”

“Dozens. We do martial arts in here since it’s the biggest space we have. I call it the LGI.”

“LGI?”

“Large Group Instruction,” Mom snorted. “See you at dinner.”

• • •

We repeated the ambush that night using Alyssa as bait again. It was mind-numbingly boring; I had to fight to stay alert all night, and absolutely nothing happened.

Ben had spent the night observing the guards. He joined Dad, Alyssa, and me as we were getting ready for breakfast.

“Did you figure out an escape plan?” I asked Ben.

“Yes. But I need more time to observe the guards and confirm it will work flawlessly.”

“I don’t have more time.” My brain was stuck in a loop, thinking that Darla might not have more time, either.

“We’ve been over this,” Dad said. “You might never find her. You might get killed trying. Our family is going to stick together.”

“I know, but—”

“There’s the minor problem of the fence, razor wire, and guards, too,” Alyssa said.

“It’s not a significant problem,” Ben said. “The guard pattern has vulnerabilities, and with a simple weighted canvas sling the razor wire can be defeated. There’s a device purpose-built for precisely that . . .”