Ashfall

“My parents. Are they—”

“I’d better get your uncle to explain. He’s been . . . weird.” Darla dropped my hand and stood up. “I’ll be right back,” she said as she left the room.

Not sixty seconds later, my uncle came in with Darla following. He turned, looked at her, and cleared his throat. They stared at each other a moment.

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” Darla said, then left the room again.

“Who is she?” Uncle Paul asked.

“What happened to my parents?” I said.

“She said you met in Worthington? How well do you know her?”

I pushed myself up in the bed with some effort. The covers fell away from my torso. Blood rushed from my head, and I felt a bit woozy. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her. She saved my life. More than once.” I stared into my uncle’s eyes, making an effort not to blink. “I’d die for her.”

Uncle Paul looked away. “Heck of a scar on your side.”

“Darla stitched it.”

“She didn’t tell us about all that. I guess we can count on her, then.”

“You can.”

“I’m sorry. It’s . . . there’s all sorts of crazies out. Don’t see much of them here, but we hear stories. Folks who live out on Highway 20 have had a rough time.”

“Tell me about it. . . . Where are Mom and Dad? Are they dead?”

“Yes. That. I tried to talk them out of it, but they were determined.”

“Out of what? And quit dodging the question. Are they dead?”

“I don’t know. They left five weeks ago. They went back to Iowa.”

My chest felt suddenly heavy. “Why? And why’d they leave Rebecca here?”

“They went to look for you.”

“They what?”

“They went into the red zone to find you, Alex. We haven’t heard any news of them since they left.”

“Crap.” I swung my legs out of the bed, realized I was naked, and pulled a corner of the covers over my lap. I’d spent the last eight weeks struggling to reach my uncle’s farm, figuring that once I got here my quest would be complete. But it wasn’t. Sure, I’d be safe here, but if I were only looking for a safe place to stay, I never would have left Mrs. Nance’s school in Worthington. “I’ve got to go back. Try to find them.” I looked around for my clothing but didn’t see it.

“No. You’re safe here—”

“But they’re not safe in Iowa. They’ve got no idea what they’re getting into.”

“They had some idea before they left. Things have been rough here, too. I traded a pair of breeding goats for a shotgun and gave it to your dad.”

“My dad? With a shotgun? No way. He’s liable to hurt himself.”

“People have changed. Your dad’s not the same man he was. Heck, you’re not the same either—I don’t see any sign of the sullen kid who used to bury his nose in a computer game or book the moment he got here.”

“Yeah, well.” I didn’t care much for being called a sullen kid. But maybe he was right. I had changed. “I should go back. I know what to expect in Iowa now. They might need help. I didn’t even leave a note at the house, and my bedroom is completely collapsed. There was a fire, too. If they get there, they might think I’m dead. I guess Darren and Joe know I was alive when I left, but they might be dead or gone by now.”

“If they can’t find you, they’ll come back here for Rebecca. If you go, how will you find them? You’ve already passed each other on the road. And this winter is only going to get worse. All the ash and sulfur dioxide in the air is going to wreck the weather for years. It’s going to get colder and harder to travel—”

“With skis I can—”

“You might need skis just to travel next summer. The volcanic winter might last a decade, nobody knows for sure.”

A decade of winter? That hit hard. How would anyone survive?

“Just wait, Alex. Maybe they’ll come back. If they haven’t shown up next summer, maybe conditions will be better so you can go look for them. Maybe by then FEMA will be in Iowa.”

“Huh. That’d hurt more than it’d help.”

“At least they clear the roads and maintain some order.”

“You haven’t done time in a FEMA camp.” My face was tense, scowling.

“No. But there’s another reason you shouldn’t take off after your folks. You’re needed here. I need your help. We could be looking at years without a reliable food source. We need to stockpile corn and wood, build more greenhouses, and figure out some way to keep feeding the goats and ducks. There’s an immense amount of work to be done.”

I nodded grudgingly. “Okay. I’ll think about it. But if Mom and Dad haven’t shown up by next spring, I’m going to go look for them. In the meantime, I’ll help—although Darla will be way more helpful than me. She was ru

“Let’s not make any decisions today. It may be summer before the weather improves—if it does at all. But okay. If we can get things on a solid footing here, I’ll consider supplying you for an expedition back to Cedar Falls.”

“Where’s my clothing?”

“It was infested with lice. We hung it in a corner of the barn. I’m thinking the lice might die eventually if there’s no one for them to feed on. I’m not sure.”

“Yuck.” I felt itchy all over.

“I’ll get some of mine for you. Come down to the kitchen when you’re dressed; it’s di

Chapter 54

My cousins Max and A

The table was already set. I sat down and drained the glass of water in front of me in a few gulps.

“Jugs on the counter are drinking water,” Uncle Paul said. “Help yourself if you want more.”

I got up and refilled my glass. While I was up, Darla came through the back door carrying a frying pan and a plate stacked high with omelets. Aunt Caroline followed, hefting a plate of cornbread.

It was an odd di

“It’s a duck-egg, goat-cheese, and kale omelet,” she replied.

“The ducks are mine,” A

“I don’t know how long we’ll be able to keep the ducks,” Uncle Paul said. A

“How’d you keep them alive through the ashfall?” Darla asked.

“We didn’t—not as well as I’d have liked, anyway. We lost four ducks and two goats to silicosis. But when we figured out what was going on, we started keeping them in the barn all the time and spreading wet straw to keep the dust down.”

“Where’d the kale come from?” I asked.

“We planted a fall garden in our greenhouses, before the eruption. But it got cold so fast that only the kale survived. We’ve been feeding the dead cucumber vines, tomato plants, and so on to the goats, but we’re out of those now. We’ve replanted—mostly kale, so I hope you like it.”

“Tastes fine to me,” I said.

“Your taste buds need tuning up,” Max said grumpily, although he was eating his kale omelet, too.

“Tell us about your trip,” Uncle Paul said. “From the little bit Darla’s told us, you had a rough time.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” I said. That wasn’t exactly true. I didn’t even want to think about it, much less talk.

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah.”

I hoped he’d drop it, change the subject or something, but he kept asking questions. So I slowly released the breath I’d been holding in and relented. For the rest of the di