Ashen Winter

Ben was still screaming, and Alyssa was still brushing him. “You have any bandages?” Alyssa asked.

“There’s a first-aid kit in my backpack,” I said. She quit brushing Ben and pulled my backpack out from under the seat.

The Peckerwood’s driver was now clear of their truck. I eased my foot onto the gas, and we slowly rolled forward. It didn’t look like our truck would fit around the wreck, but I didn’t want to turn around. For one thing, I was afraid more trucks might be headed our way from Anamosa. And for another, I didn’t know if I could manage a three-point turn.

“Watch out,” I said to Alyssa, who was still rummaging through my backpack.

“I found it.” She twisted and sat, clutching the plastic case that held my first-aid supplies. Ben was still screaming.

I mashed the accelerator, racing toward the tiny gap between the wreck and the snow berm. The driver looked up in alarm and scrambled away on all fours. We struck the edge of the cab, barely registering the impact. The wrecked truck spun when we hit it, and we shot free, accelerating south away from the accident and the Peckerwoods.

Chapter 53

Within minutes, Ben quieted down considerably. Alyssa had a gauze pad in one hand, mopping his forehead. With the other, she was brushing him continuously with her glove. She talked to him in a patient, straightforward voice. “It’s okay. I’m going to put everything back the way it should be. You’re going to be fine.”

“Ben’s blood belongs on the inside,” he said.

“Yes, it does. I’m going to wrap your head up now to keep it there.” Alyssa had wiped away enough blood to expose a long cut along his forehead. She started bandaging it, using strips of medical tape to hold the wound closed and covering it all with gauze.

We came to an intersection, and I turned left. I pla

I squeezed the steering wheel tighter, wondering if Worthington was still even standing. Maybe Alyssa and Ben would arrive to find a town burned out and looted by the Peckerwoods.

The truck was handling badly, pulling to the left. Or maybe I was doing it, trying to drive one-handed. I wasn’t much of a driver even when both my arms worked. The pull got steadily worse. The truck started listing to the left and making a rhythmic whap-whap-whap sound.

“Something’s wrong,” I said. “I’ve got to stop.”

“Okay.” Alyssa didn’t even look at me. “Does it hurt anywhere else?” she asked Ben.

“Ankle,” he said.

“How did you hurt your ankle?”

“It got twisted in the straps of the backpack when we crashed,” Ben said.

“I need to check it for you.” Alyssa ducked down into the passenger-side footwell.

I let the truck coast to a stop and got out.

The front left wheel well was crushed. Its edge had carved a deep groove in the tire, shredding it. Now it looked like the whole tread might fall off.

The spare was obvious—it was attached horizontally just behind the driver’s door. I’d clung to a spare tire on a deuce like this one during my wild ride from Cascade to Anamosa. What I didn’t see was a jack.

I’d never changed a tire before, but I’d watched my mom do it once. She’d gotten a little plastic case that held the jack out from under the spare. I looked all around the spare, even wormed under the truck on my back, but I didn’t see anything that looked like a jack. I went to look in the cab.

Ben was stretched out on the bench seat. Alyssa bent over his left ankle.

“How is he?” I asked.

“His ankle is hurt. It’s swelling. I’m afraid if I take his boot off he won’t be able to get it back on.”

“Don’t then. We might have to walk. And we’re still way too close to the wreck.”

“I don’t know if he can walk.”

“Wrap his ankle and foot in an Ace bandage. Over the boot. Try to immobilize it.”

“Okay.”

“Ben, do you know how to change the tire on this thing?”

“Which thing does Alex mean?”

“The truck we’re sitting in.”

“Yes. The operator must loosen each lug nut from the damaged wheel but not remove them. Then the operator must use the hydraulic jack to raise—”

“That’s what I want to know. Where’s the jack?”

“In the toolbox.”

“Where’s that?”

Ben swung his legs off the seat and started to slide out of the truck. Both Alyssa and I protested, telling him not to move, but neither of us was in position to stop him. When his feet hit the road, he screamed and crumpled to the ice.

I ran around the cab, ignoring the pain of my bruised right leg, but by the time I got there, Alyssa was already helping him up. Or rather, he was helping himself up, using Alyssa’s shoulder for support. She barely touched him.

“Ben’s ankle is not functioning properly,” he said.

“No, it’s not,” Alyssa replied. “Lie down on the seat, and I’ll wrap it up for you.”

“Where’s the toolbox?” I asked.

“Under the operator’s door,” Ben replied as Alyssa helped him back into the cab.

I went around to the driver’s side. There was a metal compartment that I hadn’t noticed before between the ru

Chapter 54

“There’s no jack,” I told Alyssa. “We have to walk.”

“Ben can’t walk,” she whispered.

I’d sort of known that already. But we had to get away from here somehow. Maybe I could rig some kind of stretcher using the frame from my backpack and drag Ben along. But he was a big guy.

The engine was still ru

The passenger door was still open. Alyssa and Ben were busy wrapping his leg, so I limped around the cab and slammed their door myself.

I only stalled the truck once getting it in gear. It would move on a flat tire, but not fast. The speedometer never passed ten miles per hour. Still, it was far better time than we would have made walking.

I had to fight to keep the steering wheel straight, which was tiring using only one hand. The truck moved like it wanted to crash into the left-hand snow berm. After a while, keeping it on the road became a real test of my endurance and willpower.

At the first intersection, I turned right. I wanted to put several turns between us and the Peckerwoods to make us harder to follow. I pla

The numbness in my right arm started to wear off. Not a good thing—it was replaced with what felt like eight zillion angry bees swarming under my skin, stinging and chewing my muscles to hamburger. And to top it all off, I was exhausted. I tapped my left foot, bit my lip, and suppressed a few dozen yawns—all in a monumental struggle to stay awake.

“I can’t do this much longer,” I said.

“I’ll watch for a place to stop,” Alyssa said.

“I’ve got to get back to Anamosa. You drive for a while.”

“I’ve got to take care of Ben.” She turned away from me and resumed brushing Ben and talking to him in a low voice.

She’d already wrapped his ankle—it seemed to me that he’d be fine on his own for a while.

The first farmstead we passed was a burned-out husk. Few of the walls were standing, let alone any part of the roof that could shelter or hide us. A few minutes after we passed it, I heard a faint clang in the distance, like a bell ringing, but I couldn’t figure out where the sound had come from.