Ashes, Ashes (11 page)

Lucy suffered another twinge. Her dad used to sit like that at his desk. Even though her mom always complained that it scuffed the floor.

“Any more clothing in your bag?” he asked.

She nodded, unlaced the opening, and pulled out the sodden mass of her clothes. Her nose wrinkled. They smelled of mold and ancient sweat and the iron tang of blood from her wounded hand. She dropped them on the ground. They were torn and disgusting and probably unwearable anyway. She continued to dig, dropping her dead flashlight, tinderbox, journal, yearbook, survival manual, and her musty, polyester sleeping bag in a heap. Her fingertips touched soft wool at the bottom of the bag and her heart leapt. Her mother’s shawl! Surely he wouldn’t take it from her? He had said plant fibers, like cotton. This was wool. Wool was okay, right?

She withdrew her hand and raised her eyes. “That’s it,” she said firmly, indicating the pile of things. His glance passed over them slowly, and then he nodded and she shoved everything but the clothing back in and tied the laces tightly.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah. Yes,” she said hugging the bag to her. Could he tell that she was lying?

A furrow appeared across his forehead. “How long were you out on your own?”

She exhaled.

“About a year.” His eyebrows went up, but all he said was, “There are more clothes over there if you need anything. No towels, but you can use them to dry off with, too.” He got up heavily and pointed toward the shower stall. “You’ve got about three gallons of water there. If you use it all before you rinse off, you’ll have to hike a ways to get more.” He handed her a slab of rough soap. It smelled overpoweringly of peppermint and lemons and felt greasy against her palm.

“So? Okay?” he said, preparing to go. “I’ll be outside if you need anything.”

Wait
. Now that he was leaving, she felt the familiar lump of dread settle in her stomach. Funny how she felt safer when she was out in the open and could see her surroundings. Anyone could approach the tent and she wouldn’t know until it was too late.

“You can leave your old clothes there on the ground. I’ll be right outside.” He met her eyes, nodded, then ducked out the tent flap. She heard his deep voice as he greeted someone. It was comforting to think of him so close by.

The water was not as cold as she had feared. She made a washcloth out of her tank top and paid particular attention to her armpits and the back of her neck. The soap was gritty and so pungent, it made her want to sneeze. She gave up trying to work it into a lather after a couple of minutes, doused her head, and tried to work through the worst of the tangles. She washed her mouth out and ran her finger over her teeth to clean them. When she was done, her skin tingled and she could bear to smell herself.

It was a relief to kick her old clothes to the side. She’d been wearing the same two pairs of jeans for almost a year, the same T-shirts and tank tops and hoodie, washing them in the lake when she could. She’d tried to make her own detergent from soapwort and the fat layer from the belly of a dead squirrel, but it had been a disaster. The stink of cooking lard had driven her from her camp for a few hours, and she’d ruined one of her only saucepans. She sniffed her sweatshirt before tossing it onto the discard pile in disgust. It was funny how she hadn’t really smelled her stink before. She’d gotten so used to it.

She dragged her fingers through her curls one last time, both wishing for and glad there wasn’t a mirror.

The new clothes smelled strongly of bleach and were rough and slightly itchy against her newly scrubbed skin, but they fit okay. She rolled the pant legs up a little, laced her boots, and then dug through the pile looking for a sweatshirt. She needed something with a hood, preferably dark-colored, so she could vanish if she had to.
Aha
! She pulled out a sweatshirt. It was faded with washing and too big, but she slipped it on, instantly comforted by the fleece lining. Over that went her leather jacket. Now she could rough it outside for a few nights if she had to. She also grabbed another change of clothes, underwear, socks, and a couple of tank tops and stuffed them into her bag.

She shouldered the backpack and ducked outside. The rain had stopped, and the ground steamed slightly in the blazing sun.

Lucy shaded her eyes. The hospital tent stood in its own little area apart from the other lean-tos and awnings she could see scattered on the outskirts of the big square. People clustered together, exchanging worried glances and talking in low voices. None of the young kids were unaccompanied. Each had an older guardian, grim-faced and wary. Some of the teenagers were gathering piles of rocks; some stood along the path Lucy had traveled down, acting as sentries.

Feeling shy and awkward, she spotted Aidan a dozen yards away. He was standing close to
that Del girl
. Funny how she’d just started calling her that in her mind. Petty and sort of mean, actually, but there was something in the way the other girl held herself, as if she knew that she was beautiful and expected attention for it, that was really annoying.

Aidan leaned into her. Their heads were almost touching. His hand was on her sleeve. She yanked her arm away. A torrent of angry words spilled from her lips. He frowned and made a series of exaggerated gestures with his hands, and suddenly she laughed and pulled him close, her left arm slung around his shoulder. His arm slipped around her waist. It was an intimate gesture, and it halted Lucy in her tracks.

Lucy fumbled with the too-long sleeves of her sweatshirt. She must look like an elephant. And it was way too hot to be wearing all her clothes. Del was in a tank top and a pair of faded cargo shorts.

Slowly, Lucy walked in their direction, her eyes fixed on the pebbly ground. She tried to look as if she had a destination, a purpose. She kicked a rock. A minute ago she’d felt clean, refreshed; now she was sweating. She touched her hair, pushing the riot of damp curls back without success.

“Lucy!” Aidan said, and waved.

Del moved even closer to him. She didn’t smile. Lucy had never been so conscious of tripping as she was now, covering the ground that separated them. She prayed she wouldn’t stumble in front of Del’s piercing blue eyes. And if she did, she hoped she’d be knocked unconscious or something.

“Hi,” she said, reaching them. She was striving for unconcerned and cool, but it came out sounding like a question. Del smirked.

“Del Flowers, this is Lucy …?”

“Holloway,” Lucy said. “Lucy Holloway.”
Man, even the girl’s name is exotic
.

They shook hands. Del’s eyes slid away from hers, and as soon as she’d given Lucy’s hand the expected up-down shake, she dropped it like it was a snake. Her fingers crept around Aidan’s forearm.

Lucy put her backpack down and shrugged her arms out of her leather jacket. The sun was beating down. The glare beating off the broken tarmac was giving her a headache. She remembered how long it had been since she’d eaten. And most of that she’d puked up. She felt suddenly dizzy.

Del was tiptoeing her fingers along Aidan’s biceps now. He stepped away and bent down to tighten his shoelace. “How’d it go with Leo?” he asked.

Lucy was instantly angry. She remembered the fear she’d felt. “You could have warned me.”

“Would you have stuck around?”

“I almost knifed him.”

Del snickered. “Leo is a black belt. I think he’d probably manage to defend himself against you.”

“Not if he wasn’t expecting an attack,” Lucy fired back.

Del rolled her eyes. “Oh
come
on! He took on six guys today.” She tugged at Aidan’s arm. “Tell her!”

Aidan shook his head and mumbled something incomprehensible. Del glared at him, and then turned a poisonous gaze on Lucy.

“Whatever,” she said, and stormed off.

After a long moment, Aidan said, “It’s been a bad day. She’s upset.”

You think
? Lucy barely stopped herself from voicing the thought.

Without speaking, they walked to the center of the square. Although it was still midafternoon and bright, the shadows were creeping forward. The sun was suddenly obscured behind boiling black clouds. The air felt heavy.

Rain again
, thought Lucy, and then the fat drops fell. In just a few seconds, they became a torrent. Pools of already saturated mud surged under her boots. She felt the weight of the water in the weave of her clothes. Aidan’s shaggy hair was plastered against his scalp. It seemed as if the weather never did anything by half measures anymore.

He pulled her under a pale blue awning, but he released her arm far too soon. At a loss for anything to say, Lucy stared at her feet. Aidan looked toward the wide road by which the Sweepers had come. His face was set. She followed his gaze.

“Where does the road go?” Lucy asked.

“It dips down and follows the shoreline for a few miles and ends up at the island.”

“So they’ve got a straight route from here to there?”

“Yeah, it’s one of the only routes still accessible. They keep it clear for the vans. Otherwise they’d be on foot.”

An older woman, her head covered by a black scarf, dragged a cover over the big pot on the fire and then joined Lucy and Aidan, who instantly made room for her. She walked slowly, as if her joints were stiff. Lucy’s Grandma Ferris had moved like that. Her solid body was swathed in black shawls. Her nose was curved like a beak and she wore heavy gold hoops in her ears, which had elongated the lobes. Lucy recognized her as the woman with the fruits and vegetables. Her black eyes flashed. “They took the priest, Walter, and sad Olive?” she asked Aidan. Her voice was accented, the consonants thickly pronounced. “My little
zabkos
, too?”

Aidan nodded. “And some others I didn’t know.” She made a guttural noise in her throat and then sighed. “At least Emi and Jack are still together. They had barely settled in.” She sighed again.

She turned toward Lucy. “And who is this?”

Lucy tried to meet her gaze but failed. Water dripped from her hair into her eyes. Her nose was running like a faucet. She thought about wiping it on her sleeve but didn’t. Not in front of this fierce woman.

She pulled her sweatshirt hood up, but it was too late. She was already soaked.

“This is Lucy. She gave the signal,” Aidan said. “And this is Grammalie Rose,” he told Lucy.

The woman stared at her for a long moment. Her dark eyes were framed by thick, black brows. They gave her face a strength that made Lucy nervous. She felt like a mouse pinned by a hawk.

“The howl?”

Lucy cleared her throat. “Yes,” she said in a raspy whisper, and then, louder, “Yeah.” She shot a quick glance at the stern old woman, wondering if that had sounded sort of smart-alecky.

“You are a wolf, perhaps?” She made a dry coughing sound which Lucy realized with surprise was a laugh.

“I just thought the sound would carry. And people would notice.”

The old woman stared at her openly. Her eyes were very black. There was no definition between iris and pupil. It made it hard to look away.

“So,” she said eventually, nodding her head. “Good. We need people like her.”

“What?” said Lucy, glancing at Aidan. The corner of his mouth twisted and then flattened into a thin line again. “I’m not much use in a fight.”

Aidan touched the welt on his cheek. “Yeah, well, neither am I.” He looked down the road and frowned. “Especially when we’re up against Tasers and a plan, and we’ve got nothing but some teenagers and senior citizens with sticks and stones.”

“Tasers?” Lucy echoed. Those were the black boxes she’d seen the Sweepers holding. Stupidly she’d thought they were radios. No wonder the kids had held back.

“They don’t always use them. Not against the young ones at least. It’s as if they don’t want to injure them or something,” Aidan said.

Grammalie Rose said, “They will have their attention on Leo now.”

Aidan nodded.

“So you don’t really know what they’re doing with the people they take?” Lucy asked.

“No idea, but I doubt it’s a spa treatment,” he said.

“Nothing good,” Grammalie said heavily.

They both fell silent.

After a few seconds, Aidan loosened his shoulders. “Grammalie Rose, do you think …?” He paused. She swiveled those piercing eyes toward him.

“Do I think they will come back?” Grammalie Rose exhaled. “Do I think we should try to find them?”

Aidan nodded. His hands were clenched in fists, but Lucy thought he was unaware of it.

“I think that would be both dangerous and foolhardy.” Aidan made an impatient gesture. The old woman raised her hand and pointed her forefinger at his chest. “And I think we will have a meeting soon and hear from everyone.”

“Soon? Tonight?”

She shook her head. “Feelings are running high. Not everyone is here.”

Aidan grunted.

Her black eyebrows bunched. “Okay?” she asked.

“Okay,” said Aidan.

She glanced at Lucy. A quirk appeared in the corner of her mouth.

“I will see you soon,
zabko
. There are still a few hours of light left.”

“Ummm. Okay.” Immediately Lucy berated herself. Why hadn’t she said she had no intention of hanging around? That she was just passing through?

Grammalie Rose walked away, and Lucy watched her make slow progress, pausing to speak to one person, lay a hand on a bowed shoulder, give a swift hug to a small child who ran up to her, chattering away.

Lucy turned to Aidan, who was flexing his bruised hand. “What’s …
jabco
?”

“I think it means ‘little frog.’ She calls everybody under sixty that.”

“Oh. So should I be worried? She scares me.”

“She sort of scares me, too, but don’t be nervous.” Aidan stared out into the rain. “I’m glad you came.”

Lucy glared at the ground. She pressed the backs of her hands against her hot cheeks.

“No choice,” she mumbled, and then wished she’d kept her mouth closed.

He shot her a quick smile which turned to a frown. “Why?”

She told him briefly about the tsunami, skipping over the details in case she burst into tears at the thought of her lost camp. The frown got deeper.