Ashes, Ashes (17 page)

She nodded and wandered outside. The lanterns were lit, casting wavering shadows and filling the air with stinky smoke. The sun sank down behind the Great Hill in a flush of crimson clouds.

In the square, the awnings were rolled back and tied with lengths of rope. Long tables and benches had been moved out into the open and arranged around the fire pit. It was piled high with roughly chopped wood salvaged from the Sweeper-leveled houses all around, and more fuel lay stacked nearby. The flames roared. The big black cooking pot hung above it in a welded cradle. Even from where she stood, Lucy could smell the mouthwatering combination of root vegetables and browning meat. From the opposite corner of the square she caught sight of Aidan hauling more water. She paused, waiting to see if he would notice her. He responded to a few greetings. His eyes seemed to wander in her direction, but she couldn’t be sure. Lucy watched as he crossed over to the pot and set his jugs down. He emptied one in, then another. Steam rose in great billows, his forehead shone with sweat. She moved toward him, a conciliatory smile pasted on her face, but then, before she’d made it to his side, Aidan was gone, crossing quickly and disappearing into one of the side alleys that ran like a maze around the dilapidated houses. She stared after him. He was avoiding her. If she were able to catch up to him, she was pretty sure she’d have punched him in the nose or at least kicked him really hard in the shin. She should have known he was a brooder. They never knew how to fight. Instead of yelling, they kept it all inside. She’d been all ready to continue their discussion from the other day, but he obviously couldn’t handle anyone disagreeing with him, and that’s why he was acting like a baby. She felt mad all over again.

Lucy checked the soup. Rabbit. Or was it cat? She couldn’t tell. It seemed too thick to her. Aidan hadn’t even added enough liquid, she thought, annoyed. She bent to pick up a water container. Her arms, sore from carrying pounds and pounds of vegetables, complained.

Henry hurried over to give her a hand. He reminded her of a puppy. If he’d had a tail, it would have been wagging. She found a smile for him. He grinned back. Between them they poured the rest of the water into the pot. Henry stirred it all together, pushed the lid over the top leaving a gap for steam to escape through, and raked up the embers with the toe of his boot. Almost immediately the water began to simmer.

The heat was strong enough to crisp her eyelashes. Lucy stepped back, looking up at the sky. For the first time in a while, the night was clear and cloudless. She sniffed for the scent of rain but smelled nothing except for the aroma of meat, vegetables, and broth. Henry winked at her.

“Soup’s on!” Henry said. “Give it five minutes.”

From somewhere nearby came the sound of a pot being pounded with a wooden spoon, and at once people appeared in the alleyways. They hovered in groups of three or four, as if they were family units: one or two small kids and then the older people, the DAs.

Shadows danced across the square. Henry steered her toward the food prep tent, where teetering rows of stacked bowls, platters of the dense, chewy bread, and an assortment of mismatched spoons were laid out. There were saucers of the green olive oil and roughly chopped tomatoes scattered with shredded green leaves. Lucy smelled the pungent scent of basil and her mouth started watering. Yet another thing she’d missed without knowing it—herbs.

Henry grabbed a bowl and a spoon and handed it to her. He ladled tomatoes into her bowl, then filled his own. He shoved a loaf of bread into the front pocket of his sweatshirt, along with a bottle of water. “Can you snag some of that oil?” he asked. She juggled her bowl and picked up a saucer, trying hard not to spill it. They made their way back out past the line of people and sat at a table directly across from the fire. Lucy eased herself down with a sigh. The bench was hard and splintery, but it was the first time all day that she was off her feet. She could feel her toes tingling inside her boots. Her sore ankle throbbed. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The fire was like a wall of heat against her face. Slowly the taut muscles in her neck loosened and she opened her eyes. The lanterns were mostly behind her and cast bobbing shadows that made the ground appear to tilt and the dark silhouettes of the shacks on the hill seem to vibrate. It softened edges and concealed the mounds of rubble. The moon was waning, and the sky was studded with stars. So many stars, she thought.

“Ready for some soup?” Henry asked, distracting her. His bowl was empty already. She drizzled oil on her tomatoes and stuffed them into her mouth. The flavor burst against her tongue. She mopped up the last of the oil with a chunk of bread, then held up her bowl.

The benches beside them were all occupied now. Sue was there. Lucy was glad the girl hadn’t been snatched. She couldn’t be any older than eleven, but she was mothering a handful of grimy urchins, breaking their bread into small pieces and picking the basil off their tomatoes. Lucy looked around for Grammalie Rose and found her a couple of tables down, warming her swollen fingers before the fire. Lucy checked and saw that she had food. Aidan was nowhere to be seen. She pictured him glowering in the shadows somewhere, breaking sticks or punching walls, or something equally useless. When Henry came back holding a bowl in each hand, she gave him her biggest smile. He stepped backward as if he had lost his balance. Soup sloshed over the edge of the dish.

He sat down, carefully setting her meal in front of her. “Hey,” he said, grinning like an idiot.

“Hey,” Lucy said, bending her head over her bowl. The soup was thick with chunks of potatoes, onions, and carrots. Droplets of oil swirled on the top with a scattering of fresh herbs. A few skinny rabbits between thirty people didn’t go far, but she figured she had at least a couple of pieces floating in there somewhere. The whole time she was eating, she felt Henry’s eyes on her. It made her feel uncomfortable and embarrassed, but good, too, in a way.

She smoothed her hair back, tugging her fingers through the tangles. It fell in wild ringlets around her face. She gave up trying to push it behind her ears, letting it flop. Lucy leaned back in her seat. Her stomach was full. She toyed with another piece of bread, letting the chatter flow over her. The kids were half-in, half-out of their chairs now, wrestling and tagging one another, overtired but full of energy. She was reminded of her brother, Rob, who’d get so wound up at the end of the day, shortly before he crashed. She watched the children run in circles, weaving among the tables, dodging people carrying bowls of soup, ignoring the hands that reached out to grab them or give them a warning shake. And then they were playing in the narrow passages, a complicated game that combined hide-and-seek with tag. One of the boys was blindfolded; the others hooted and catcalled, tossing pebbles around his feet.

The frightening events of the past few days were fading for them already. A couple of the really little kids nestled together, clutching blankets and sucking on their thumbs, already half-asleep.

She figured about a third of the camp dwellers were under the age of thirteen. The rest of them were split equally between young adults and senior citizens. It was weird to be in an environment where she was one of the adults, where her opinion might actually count for something. Of course, she thought irritably, it already sounded like no one would be taking her side.

Lucy watched as a large group of people joined Grammalie Rose’s table. She wondered if after all there would be some kind of a meeting this evening. For the most part the people at the table were older, stooped, and gray-haired, but without the fierce strength that radiated through Grammalie Rose. Three of the figures were hooded in thick cloaks. Lucy couldn’t stop her nerves from jumping. She caught the flash of Sammy’s white mask. The others were masked, too. One was like a cat with huge tufted ears, the other painted blue with silver flourishes. And then she saw that Aidan was there with them, in his bright red sweatshirt, his sun-streaked hair catching the light. He leaned in and slung his arm around Sammy’s shoulders.
His brother
, Lucy remembered.

She watched Aidan despite herself, noticing his quick smile, the light rumble of his voice, his graceful movements. She wondered if he was going to come over or if he was still mad. She was sorry, suddenly, that they had argued. But that didn’t mean she was going to walk across the square to him. Lucy tore her piece of bread into little scraps and tossed them onto the table. She turned on the bench so she was looking in the opposite direction.

“Your eyes are the same shade as a stormy sky,” Henry said, breaking into her thoughts. He leaned his chin on his steepled hands.

She was just able to keep herself from rolling those eyes. “My sister used to say they were the color of dirty window-panes,” she said, trying to laugh it off.

“Oh no,” he said, “they’re exactly like—”

Lucy interrupted and changed the subject. “So what’s going on tomorrow?”

Henry blinked. He looked a little bit like a frog with his big, round eyes. She fought a giggle.

“Tomorrow?” he said.

“Yeah. I was thinking I’d like to go out to the woods and the plateau. Maybe learn how to use a slingshot. Can you show me that?”

He gulped. “Normally we have a rotating schedule every week and people are assigned different chores. So it’s the fields one week, and the next, rebuilding or hunting. With everything that’s happened lately, we’ve sort of lost track of who’s doing what.”

“Great,” she said. She grinned at him. “So what do you think?”

“Doesn’t Grammalie Rose usually tell you what she needs you to do each morning?” he asked.

Lucy scowled. It was like she’d been drafted.

Henry hurried to say, “But you can already handle a knife, so maybe Aidan will give you some weapons training.”

She sat up. “I thought he wasn’t much of a fighter?”

“Since Leo and Del are gone, he’s the best we’ve got. He’s pretty good with a bow and arrow, and a slingshot. He’s on hunting duty more than anyone. You’ll have to ask him, though.”

She frowned again. Aidan probably didn’t want to hear anything she had to say. He was still over there with the S’ans, and he hadn’t looked in her direction once.

“Listen, are you mad about something or just hungry?” Henry asked. “Do you want more soup?”

She forced herself to smile at him. “No, I’m fine. Just tired.”

Henry got to his feet. He stacked their dishes.

“Okay. I’ve got to organize the dishwashers, but that’ll only take about ten minutes. You’ll be here?”

“Sure.”

Lucy stretched out her legs and wiggled her toes. Then she leaned forward and cradled her head on her folded arms. The fire smoke tickled her eyeballs. She felt a huge yawn coming.

“Tired,
wilcze
?” Grammalie Rose said in her rough voice. The old lady sat down with a creak and a sigh. “Thank you for all your hard work these past few days.”

Lucy straightened her back. “Sure,” she said, surprised.

“I see you have befriended Henry, our resident lothario,” Grammalie Rose continued. “Has he told you how beautiful you are yet?”

Lucy coughed. “Not exactly.”

“He will. He’s an eternal optimist.”

The old woman beckoned to Connor and Scout, who were walking by with linked hands. “They were responsible for our rabbits today,” she informed Lucy. “Did you two have to go out far?”

“A few miles out on the plateau,” Connor replied.

Scout frowned. “It took hours. They were really skittish.”

“Any trouble?” the old woman asked.

Connor shook his head.

Lucy couldn’t help but notice how their fingers clasped and unclasped but never let go, and how they leaned together, as if an invisible string were pulling on them. They walked on, Connor’s head bent to hear something that Scout whispered to him. The back of his neck glowed bright red.

“So will there be some kind of meeting tonight?” Lucy asked.

“Not tonight,” Grammalie Rose said. She pulled a box from a pocket and opened it. Inside were six or seven of the brown cigarettes and a crumpled book of matches. She lit one, blowing the smoke into the air in a long stream. “Tempers are still too hot tonight.” She picked a dried leaf of tobacco from her lip. “Sammy wanted to storm the hospital.” She uttered one of her dry laughs. “He is as foolhardy as his brother.”

Lucy was surprised the—Sammy had been thinking along the same lines as she had.

“Aidan doesn’t want to go. He wants us to hide here,” she said.

“Really? Perhaps he has finally learned to be cautious.” Grammalie Rose squashed her cigarette on the sole of her clogs and put the butt into the box, which disappeared again into a pocket. She turned to look at Lucy. “You think Sammy is right, eh?” She patted her on the shoulder and got heavily to her feet. “You wear your emotions on your face,
wilcze
. I understand what you are feeling, but it will help no one if more of us are captured. We need time to plan.”

She moved away.

Lucy looked around. The two little kids who’d been at the end of her bench were gone. She imagined them bundled in their blankets under tent cover, a tumble of bodies like drowsy puppies.

Others had pushed their benches closer to the fire pit. From behind her she heard the clatter of dishes and the chime of silverware. Water sloshed into tubs and people talked in low voices. Teams of four and six picked up the long tables and moved them back under the awnings. From the group by the fire she heard the strumming of a guitar, the chords spilling out in a stream of formless music. Someone clapped their hands, keeping time, and others stamped their feet against the tarmac as the guitar wove around the simple beat. And then a violin came in, a single, sustained note that seemed to climb into the air and hang there, anchoring the guitar. Lucy had never had much time for her parents’ classical music. She’d thought it cold and clean and rigid, much like her parents and their friends, and she’d always thought that violins sounded like cats being sawed in half. But this was different. Lucy felt the melody in her chest, as if her heart would explode with fullness. It was the saddest, happiest, wildest, and most human sound she’d ever heard, as if all the yearning in the world had been bottled up and then released in a pure shot of energy. She held her breath, suddenly afraid that she was about to burst into tears.