Текст книги "Ashen Winter"

Автор книги: Mike Mullin

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

Chapter 58

I woke with a start. Something had touched my head. I slept using my backpack as a pillow; now, by the light cast by the embers of our fire, I saw the pale gleam of an arm being withdrawn from my pack.

I whipped out my left arm, caught the intruding arm, and twisted. I heard a high-pitched moan as I forced the intruder’s arm behind her back, bringing her to the floor with a thump. I rolled over onto her, controlling her legs with mine. They weren’t really taekwondo moves, but we had practiced ground fighting occasionally at my dojang.

I leaned down and whispered in her ear, lacing my words with sarcasm, “You needed something from my pack?”

“I know you got more of them greens,” Mary Sue replied.

“I don’t, and if I catch you in my backpack again, I’ll break your arm.” I forced her wrist toward her neck, emphasizing just how easy it would be to break her arm in this position. Mary Sue whimpered quietly.

I let go of her wrist and rolled off her. Mary Sue crawled away. Ben and Alyssa hadn’t even woken up. Mary Sue’s enmity didn’t make any sense to me—I’d given her dandelion greens, kale seeds, and ammo. Maybe it was a case of mama tiger gone rogue. I lay awake for an hour or more, wondering if she would return and force me to make good on my threat. To my relief, she never did.

• • •

I woke with the dawn. It took us less than ten minutes to get packed. Eli offered to make us breakfast, but I declined. I didn’t want to spend any more time than I had to in close proximity to his wife. He and Brand said goodbye, clasping arms with me and Alyssa. Ben was already in the truck. Mary Sue wouldn’t even meet my eyes, and the girls were too shy to shake our hands or offer hugs.

“Come back anytime,” Eli said as I climbed into the truck.

“I will,” I lied. The scowl on Mary Sue’s face told me exactly how welcome I’d be if I ever showed up again.

I slammed the door, pushed the starter, and stalled the truck. Not my proudest moment. But on the second try I found first gear, and we rolled away from the farmstead, headed east. I planned to turn north at the first opportunity and loop back to Anamosa. Hopefully there’d be enough gas for Alyssa and Ben to get to Worthington after I left them. Less than a quarter tank remained. Maybe it would be enough.

I’d driven about a half hour when we approached a small town. A sign barely protruding from the snow bank read WELCOME TO OLIN. I drove down the abandoned and burned-out main street. The highway ended in a T on the far side of town, and a short knoll rose in the field to the left of the road.

I slowed as I neared the intersection, looking for street signs. Without warning, a telephone pole toppled in front of us. I stomped on the brakes, sliding to a stop well before the intersection. The pole had slammed into the snow berm just ahead of us, so it was perched about four feet above the road, completely blocking our passage. I struggled to throw the truck into reverse, but I was so freaked out that I stalled it again. It didn’t matter. In the rearview mirror, I saw another telephone pole topple behind us, boxing us in.

The worst part: A line of nine or ten men appeared at the top of the knoll, bellies in the snow, aiming rifles right down at us.

Chapter 59

“Get down!” I yelled as I ducked below the driver’s window.

I figured they’d start shooting. But instead I heard a voice amplified through a bullhorn, “Turn off your vehicle. Place your hands on the dashboard. Resistance will be met with deadly force.”

Well, duh. I’d stalled “the vehicle” already. Alyssa crouched in the passenger footwell and Ben bent over so he was mostly behind the dash. Alyssa looked scared. Ben looked about the same as he always looked—a bit detached.

“You must comply or we will open fire!” the voice boomed. “Ten . . . nine . . .”

“Can we get out the passenger side?” I whispered.

“Their tactical position is excellent,” Ben replied. “We could take cover on the opposite side of the truck, but if we climb the snow pile or move down the road in either direction, we’ll enter their field of fire.”

I thought about trying to restart the truck and using it to ram the telephone pole. But they were only thirty or forty feet away, and they were above us. Would the truck’s roof stop a rifle shot from that close? I didn’t think so. As the voice counted “three . . . two . . .” I got out of the footwell, leaned forward to lay my hands on the dashboard, and told Alyssa and Ben to do the same.

Four of them detached from the troop, sliding down the knoll toward us. They wore white and gray military camo—the first people I’d seen who had the perfect camouflage to hide in the volcanic winter. When they reached me, the nearest one wrenched open the driver’s door while another guy trained his rifle on my head. One of them searched me, efficiently and none too gently, but he took only the knife and pistol off my belt. The patch on his chest read BLACK LAKE LLC. I stifled a groan. No way did I want to repeat my experience with Black Lake, locked in one of the camps they ran as a subcontractor for FEMA. But it wasn’t like I had much choice.

On the other side of the truck, two guys were dealing with Alyssa and Ben the same way. Ben started moaning, and Alyssa tried to comfort him, but there wasn’t much she could do.

“Hands behind your back,” the guy ordered. When I complied, he slipped plastic ties around my wrists and cinched them tight. My right arm didn’t like being held behind my back and wasn’t shy about telling me so. I quickly had spasms of pain shooting toward my neck. I grunted as they pulled me out of the truck.

Alyssa, Ben, and I stood together, watching a short, pudgy Black Lake guy work his way around the edge of the knoll toward us. He was the only one not carrying an assault rifle, although he had a pistol on his belt. “What do we got? Flensers?” he asked as he approached. He unsnapped the leather strap that held his pistol in its holster, and the other four Black Lake guys took a step back, away from us.

“We’re not flensers,” I said.

“Looks like a flenser truck. One of the old-model deuces we were using ’til the flensers raided our Dubuque depot.”

One of the guys with the assault rifles snorted, and Pudge silenced him with a glare.

“I took the truck from the Peckerwoods. Crashed it. See the windshield?” It would have been hard to miss, with the hole punched in the passenger side and long spiderweb cracks radiating out across the glass. I hadn’t cleaned the blood off the inside of it, either.

“Yeah,” Pudge turned to one of the grunts. “You search it yet? Any flesh on board?”

“No, sir.”

“Do it now.”

“Yes, sir.” Two of the grunts trotted to the back of the truck. I stood with Alyssa and Ben, shifting my weight from foot to foot, waiting. Nails screeched from within the truck as they forced the wooden crates open. Pudge stared at me and fingered his pistol, a greedy look in his eye. The other Black Lake guys had left the crest of the knoll. They were using a hand winch to crank one of the telephone poles back into place. It was affixed to its base with a huge hinge and held up by guy wires. Obviously they’d prepared this spot as a trap long ago—and planned to use it again.

“Ammo and manacles,” one of the grunts reported when they returned from inside our truck.

A disappointed look passed across Pudge’s face. He snapped his holster strap shut. “Davis, Roberts: Follow us in the captured vehicle. Phelps, Miner: Load the prisoners.

I guessed that meant us. Two of the guys led us to the far side of the knoll where a cargo truck was parked. It was tall and armored, looking something like an oversized elephant with stubby legs. The Black Lake grunts lifted us into the enclosed cargo bed.

The door closed behind us with a resounding clang.

Chapter 60

A sparse light filtered through the small grate at the top of the cargo hold. When my eyes adjusted, I saw the area was bare except for a metal bench on either side. The truck roared to life, and I sat down with a lurch.

Ben was moaning, rocking back and forth. Alyssa talked to him, her voice inhumanly calm considering that we’d just been tossed into the back of a cargo truck. I wanted to yell in frustration, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good.

After about ten minutes, Ben quieted. I tried to explain to Alyssa and Ben what I thought was happening. We were being taken to a camp, I figured, like the one Darla and I had done time in last year. Black Lake got paid by FEMA according to the number of “refugees” they housed, so they scoured the countryside looking for people to capture and move into their camps.

I wondered how Black Lake got paid. Dollars were worthless in Iowa and Illinois now—we had to trade for anything we needed. What would a big corporation want in trade? I couldn’t guess.

Alyssa seemed to take it in stride. I suppose after you’ve been enslaved by a cannibal gang, anything seems okay by comparison. I roamed around the truck’s cargo hold looking for a way out. The hold was solid and made of metal, and the doors were securely locked.

We were only on the road for half an hour. Then we were herded into a dingy makeshift room built inside an abandoned WalMart. A battered metal desk sat directly under a skylight, which let in what little light there was. Two guards lounged in cheap plastic lawn chairs, and a bored-looking guy—Captain Alverman, according to the cloth strip sewn on his fatigues—wrote on old sheets of copy paper.

One of the guards searched us. I had a brief moment of panic when he patted my chest, feeling the pockets that held my kale and wheat, but the packages must have been soft enough not to arouse suspicion—he didn’t investigate further. Other than that, we had nothing to take. My backpack was still in the truck we’d taken from the Peckerwoods. As far as I knew, Alyssa and Ben had only the clothes on their backs.

Captain Alverman interviewed us in a bored monotone voice, jotting our names in tiny handwriting on a sheet of copy paper already packed with names. I remembered the printed list of refugees’ names Rita Mae had shown me. Now there were no computers or printers visible. Evidently things were getting worse—even for Black Lake.

When Alverman finished, his guards escorted us out the front of the WalMart. On the far side of the road there was a huge enclosure built from chain-link fence—it stretched so far in either direction that I couldn’t see the whole thing. It was easily as big as Camp Galena had been, and that place had held almost fifty thousand people. The fence was twelve feet high, not counting the coil of razor wire topping it. It looked identical to the fence Black Lake had built at Camp Galena—the one Darla had pretty much destroyed with a bulldozer as we escaped. I would never have escaped that camp by myself. But this time I was on my own.

As we got closer, I saw a pair of guards patrolling a well-worn path in the snow around the outside of the fence. Each of them carried an assault rifle.

We approached a tiny guard shack just outside a gate. One of our guards got a key from the guy in the shack and unlocked the gate. Another cut the plastic handcuffs off us and pushed us through. I rubbed my right arm, trying to work the painful kinks out of my shoulder.

Uneven rows of tents stretched out across the camp before us. Some were canvas tents like the ones in Camp Galena last year, but these seemed dirtier, more ragged. Many of them bore makeshift patches made with scraps of plastic. None of them rested on platforms—and I knew from experience how cold the frozen ground would be.

And not everyone had a real tent. Some of the shelters were just chunks of plastic propped up on sticks. I saw a few that weren’t even plastic—instead made of old bedspreads. I guessed they’d at least keep the wind out. Hundreds of people were visible, talking in small groups or milling around. Thousands more must have been huddled in their tents, trying to escape the bitter wind.

Before we could figure out what to do, an Asian kid who looked to be about twelve broke away from a group nearby and strode up to us. Well, up to Alyssa. He raked his eyes up and down her. Not that there was much to see—she was bundled in winter clothes like everyone else. But the clothing and dirt somehow didn’t dim her beauty, just cloaked it.

“Welcome to Camp Maquoketa,” the kid said. The name of the camp rocketed through my mind. My parents might be here. How would I find them amid this multitude? “You need to go to The Principal’s office, girlie.”

“The principal?”

The kid gave me an annoyed look. “Not you, her. She’s so hot I can warm my hands off her.” He held out his gloved hands and rubbed them as if he were in front of a campfire.

I started to step between him and Alyssa, but she held me back with a hand on my arm.

“That’s so sweet,” Alyssa said in a syrupy voice. “What’s your name?”

“Flash, The. Shaken and stirred. At your service, girlie.”

Alyssa took one of his hands in hers. “Nice to meet you, Flash. My name’s Alyssa. What do you mean, the principal’s office?”

I eyed Flash. He didn’t seem to be a threat, but maybe he was working with someone else. Ben was completely absorbed in watching the two guards as they patrolled outside the fence. He was mumbling something too quietly for me to understand.

Flash had a goofy grin on his face. The hand Alyssa held was visibly shaking with excitement. He still hadn’t answered her question.

“Who’s the principal?” she said.

“She looks after all the pretty girls. So they don’t disappear. Well, mostly they don’t.”

“Disappear?” I asked.

“Come with me,” Flash said, still addressing Alyssa. “I’ll show you around. Make introductions, as they say.” He was totally butchering a James Bond accent. He started pulling on her hand, leading her toward the center of the camp.

Alyssa and I followed him for about ten feet and then she stopped, pulling Flash to a halt as well. Ben hadn’t moved. “Ben! Come on!” she yelled.

He didn’t hear—or wouldn’t respond—still absorbed in watching the guards.

“Will you get him, please?” she asked me.

I trotted back to him and reached out to touch him, pulling my hand back at the last moment. “Ben, Alyssa needs you.”

“The Sister Unit needs me,” he replied. “The rule is that when the Sister Unit needs help, Ben helps. I will observe the guards later.” He turned to follow me.

Flash led Alyssa toward the middle of the camp. I hung back, watching, wary of an ambush. We crossed a wide cleared area, within which three rings of tents were pitched concentrically, like layers of an onion. At the center of these tents there was an open plaza, maybe sixty or seventy feet in diameter.

The center area was packed with girls. Some were as young as eight or nine. Some were older, women really, but none looked older than thirty. They gathered in clusters, talking through the tent flaps, some of them huddled together for warmth.

“What is—”

“Ask The Principal,” Flash said.

He pointed to the back of a woman kneeling in the doorway of one of the tents. She was easily the oldest person in view—her black hair halfway to steely gray. She looked like . . . she couldn’t be. Or could she?

“Principal,” Flash said, “the guards caught some fresh fish.”

The woman turned, “Welc—”

Her word died as her eyes locked on mine.

“Alex?” she breathed.

“Mom.”

Chapter 61

My world lit up despite the dim light—fired into Technicolor brilliance by my joy. The last time I’d seen Mom, more than ten months ago, we’d had a terrible fight. Sometimes, in my old life, I used to hate her. Now I couldn’t imagine anything better than the elation coursing through me. She was alive! And I’d found her!

Mom charged me, wrapping me in a hug so exuberant we were both knocked to our knees. The snow couldn’t chill me—I was alight with the joy of seeing my mother again after ten long months. I cried as we embraced. Neither of us could get out any words.

Mom dragged her fingers across my face, like a blind woman might—trying to feel my features. Her fingertips slid easily on my teary skin. I clutched at her back, balling a fold of her coat up in my fist, holding on as if to prevent her from ever slipping away again.

“Principal?” Flash said. “You okay?”

Mom took a deep breath. “Yes, Lester, I’m better than okay.”

“I told you, don’t call me Lester. The name is Flash.”

“This is Alex.” She said my name as if it were an ineffable secret. “He’s my son.”

“Principal?” I asked her.

“That’s just what they call me here,” Mom hugged me even more tightly, hurting my injured shoulder. I must have let out a moan, because she said, “You okay, Alex?”

“Fine. It’s just my shoulder.”

She loosened her grip. “What happened?”

“A little truck accident. It’s fine, really.”

“Let me see.”

I held her tightly as she tried to pull away. I never wanted to let go, despite the pain the embrace was causing me.

“Alex, I need to know you’re all right.”

“I’m fine,” I said, but I loosened my grip on her, anyway. Now that she was worried, I knew she wouldn’t relax until she’d seen the damage for herself. She started stripping off my jacket and shirts.

I thought about protesting but really couldn’t summon the energy. I was still in a happy daze. And truth be told, I kind of liked the mothering attention.

“You look different. Thinner. And stronger.”

I shrugged. “You, too.” I realized she hadn’t said anything about Dad. I was scared to ask—afraid of what the answer might be. But I had to know. “Um, Mom. Is Dad—?”

“Oh my gosh, I completely forgot. Lester, would you go get Doug?”

“It’s Flash!” he yelled as he flitted away.

By then Mom had me stripped to the waist. The icy air made goose bumps rise all over my chest and arms. My right side was a beauty. Green, yellow, and purple bruises were splashed from my waist to neck, covering my side and arm.

“Good God . . .” Mom whispered.

“I’m okay.”

“Who was driving?”

I couldn’t think of an answer that would help. I just wanted to end the inquisition and get my clothing back on—I was freezing. “Um, I was on top of the truck the first time it crashed.”

“You were—”

“The other two crashes, well, I was driving.”

She was momentarily speechless. “You are not allowed to drive on a learner’s permit without me or Dad in the car, Alex.”

I gave her my best what-the-hell look. Like anyone cared about driver’s licenses in the midst of all this chaos? “I think I lost my learner’s permit when our house burned, Mom.”

“Our house? Never mind, what’re those?” She pointed at the spots on my arm and belly where I’d been shot. It looked like they were healing okay—a bit puffy and red, but scabbed over nicely.

“Oh. That’s where I got shot.”

“Shot? You got—?”

“Look, Mom. A lot of stuff has happened since Darla and I set out to find you. Don’t stress about it. I’m okay. And I found you, thank God.”

“Who’s Darla?”

“My girlfriend.”

“Ah.” She nodded, accepting that bit of information way more easily than the three truck wrecks or the fact that I’d been shot. “Pleased to meet you.” She held her hand out to Alyssa.

Alyssa took her hand. “Pleased to meet you, too. But I’m not—”

Dad rounded the corner of a nearby tent at a run, Flash trailing behind him. “Alex, you’re—!” He crashed into me with a bear hug that forced tears from my eyes—both from my joy at seeing him and the pain of his embrace. Neither of us could speak.

“Doug,” Mom said, “he’s hurt.”

Dad pulled back and looked at me. “Jesus. You look like you lost a fight with a grizzly.”

“No, just a truck.” I pulled him back into a hug with one arm, and drew my mother against us with the other. I wanted to stay there, to squeeze them both until they’d soaked into me and could never leave again. Even the stale scent of their sweat smelled heavenly.

“This is Darla,” Mom said, “Alex’s girlfriend.” She freed one arm and gestured at Alyssa.

“My name’s Alyssa. And this is my brother, Ben.”

Mom looked at me. “But you said—”

“The Peckerwoods got Darla. Shot her.” Something caught in my throat, making my eyes water. “I’m going back for her as soon as we get out of here.”

“What?” Mom said. “You can’t go charging into the middle of a gang. That’s not safe.”

Before I could even start to protest, Dad said, “She might not be alive. There’re rumors all over camp about those gangs. Say they’re eating human flesh.”

I dropped my arms from behind their backs and leaned out of the embrace. “Yes, Dad. They are eating people. They deal in slaves, too. But Darla was alive three days ago. Alyssa saw her.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Mom protested. Okay, maybe I didn’t miss the mothering all that much.

“If the Peckerwoods had Mom, would you go after her?” I stared my father in the eye.

“I would.”

I nodded and tried to fold my arms. Just the attempt hurt my right, so I picked up my shirt instead and started trying to struggle into it.

“I’ve known your mother twenty-six years. I owe her a different kind of loyalty than you owe a girlfriend.”

I couldn’t get my right arm jammed through the shirt-sleeve. “Piece of junk!” I tossed it aside.

“It’s a hard world we live in now,” Dad said mildly.

“It is the same,” I said. “Exactly the same. If you knew what we’d been through, you’d understand.”

“Guess you’d better tell us,” Dad said.

“How’s Rebecca?” Mom asked.

“She’s okay. Darla and I left her at Uncle Paul’s place. That was, um, almost two weeks ago.”

Alyssa plucked my shirt out of the snow and helped me get dressed. Ben wanted to watch the guards, and Alyssa didn’t want Ben to be alone, so when she finished helping me, they left. Mom sent Flash with them, instructing him to return in time for dinner. The fact that she’d mentioned dinner was heartening. When Darla and I had been imprisoned in Camp Galena, we’d gotten only breakfast—and not much of that.

Mom, Dad, and I ducked into one of the tents out of the wind.

“My brother’s still making out okay?” Dad asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Doing great. We grow and trade kale—it’s worth a fortune. Get pork from Warren in return.”

“Why did you leave?” Mom asked.

“We found Dad’s shotgun. But I’d better start at the beginning.” I told them about the house fire in Cedar Falls that had started my trek over ten months ago. About my thirsty trek across northeastern Iowa. About skiing into Darla’s barn, and how we had come to depend on each other, to fight together for survival. About the times I’d saved her life. The times she’d saved mine. A year ago, death meant I’d have to get my armor repaired in World of Warcraft. Now it was an all-too-real shadow lurking behind the veneer of my daily life. I still wasn’t entirely sure how I’d survived. My parents didn’t interrupt much, but it still took hours to tell the whole story. I finished by telling them about Alyssa and explaining Ben’s autism, which they seemed to take in stride.

“Ten months.” Dad had clasped his hands together as if in prayer. “It seems like a miracle that you survived all that.”

“I wouldn’t have without Darla. I’m going to find her. Even if I get killed trying.” I held his eye, making an effort not to blink.

Dad stared steadily back at me. His eyes were hollow, dark and gaunt, as if the father I’d known had been replaced by a shadowed replica chiseled from the same stone. “It’s going to be hard just to get out of here. We’ve been here, what, four-and-a-half months?”

“Almost five,” Mom said.

“Why haven’t you left? Rebecca and I didn’t know if you were even still alive.” I ground my teeth—at Black Lake, at the volcano, at my parents. They clearly weren’t getting enough to eat. Mostly I was angry at myself—why hadn’t I come sooner?

“You didn’t notice the fence? And guys with guns?” Mom said.

“We did try,” Dad said. “Twice. Right after we got here. We got caught. Thrown into a punishment hut. I thought they’d let us starve to death in there, but Lester bugged the guards so much that they almost threw him into a hut of his own.”

“Lester got us released,” Mom said. “He’s very persistent—and a little crazy.”

“I noticed,” I said.

“Four days without food and water when you’re already weak is no picnic,” Dad said. “I wasn’t sure we’d survive much longer. So we didn’t try again.”

“We can’t leave now,” Mom said.

“Why not?” I asked.

“The girls need us. People started disappearing a few months ago. Not long after I organized the school. Mostly young girls. Every three or four days, we’d get up in the morning and discover more people missing. Whole families sometimes. Sometimes just the girls. I had to do something.”

“Your mother created a camp organization, civil defense, I guess. They call her The Principal. Talked me into helping.”

“People are still disappearing,” Mom said. “But not as many as before. And we keep the girls safe.”

“And the guards tolerate it? Your civil defense organization, I mean?”

“We’re not sure why. Maybe there’re two factions of guards. One taking girls, and one supposedly in charge. We keep a low profile, but they have to know what’s going on.”

It all fit. Alyssa being kept as a slave. Darla kept alive, instead of being flensed. The girls disappearing from the camp. I balled my left hand into a fist and punched the floor of the tent, getting nothing but bruised knuckles for the effort. I wanted to punch flesh, feel bones crack under my hands—preferably the bones of whoever was responsible for this whole cursed-to-ash situation. “I’ve got to go after Darla.”

“I can’t leave,” Mom said. “These girls are depending on me.”

“We patrol at night and guard the cleared zone around the girls’ tents,” Dad said. “But we can’t watch the whole camp.”

“Who’s we?” I asked.

“The prefects,” Dad said. “That was your Mom’s idea.”

“And I convinced him to be Head Boy,” Mom said.

Dad sighed heavily. “You’re the only one who calls me that, Janice.”

“You’ll always be my head boy,” Mom said with a coquettish smile.

Dad leaned over and smooched her.

“Um, gross. I’m thrilled to see you and all, but I do not want to watch you make out,” I said. “Who’s taking the girls?”

Dad broke their kiss. “We don’t know.”

“It’s got to be the guards,” Mom said.

“Probably. It’s time for dinner, I think.” Dad pushed himself up into a crouch and shuffled toward the tent flap. Mom got five worn Styrofoam bowls and plastic spoons from a stack in the corner of the tent.

“They feed you much?” I followed them out.

“Just enough food to keep us alive, not enough to give us the energy to fight.” Dad kicked a clump of snow.

“They’ve passed out vitamin pills three times since we’ve been here,” Mom said.

I shrugged.

We walked across the camp, rehashing the stories of our individual journeys as we went. A row of field kitchens was set up outside one of the fences. Black Lake mercenaries wearing winter camo were filling bowls and passing them through hatches in the fence in front of each kitchen. Unlike Camp Galena, the refugees here were organized in neat lines. Flash waved at us from one of the other lines, and Mom beckoned him to us.

Alyssa and Ben came over with Flash. Mom gave each of us bowls and spoons. “Be careful with these,” she said. “It’s hard to get more. I’ve got to go be The Principal.” She walked off to talk to people in the other lines.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” I muttered.

“Why?” Alyssa asked. “Flash said it’s not too bad. They get enough to eat, sort of. Everyone has a tent—even if some of them suck.”

“Are you crazy? Not too bad?”

“Anything’s better than being chained to a bed in the Anamosa prison.” She glared at me, and I had to look away.

“I guess it would be,” I said softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you in such a hurry to get away from me, anyway?”

I didn’t reply.

“Darla,” she said, scowling.

“Yeah. I’m going to escape. I just don’t know how yet.”

“I can plan an escape,” Ben said. “The guard pattern is suboptimal.”

“You can?” I asked. “How?”

“I have several ideas. I need to observe the guard patterns for at least a week to confirm their effectiveness.”

“A week? I’m leaving tonight.”

“You just got to us!” Dad said.

I didn’t reply. He was right. But finding my parents hadn’t fixed anything. It only made Darla’s absence even more painful.

“If you attempt to leave without adequate preparation,” Ben said, “you will likely be caught or killed, and your mission will fail.”

He had a point. Getting myself killed wouldn’t help Darla. But I couldn’t sit around, either. Couldn’t wait while she was . . . while the Peckerwoods—I didn’t even want to think about what might be happening to Darla. Why they were keeping her alive. “I can’t wait a week. She’s in danger.”

“Maybe I could devise a preliminary operational plan with two days’ observation. More time would be necessary to confirm and optimize it. How many people would be escaping?”

“Shh,” I said. We were approaching the front of the line, where a bored Black Lake guard slopped wheat gruel into my bowl. They didn’t mark my hand. “How do they keep track of who’s gotten food?” I asked Dad.

“They don’t. We do,” Dad said as we walked away, eating our gruel. “That’s part of what your mom is off doing. They cook the same amount every meal. If someone takes seconds, someone else goes without.”

“How many people must I plan for?” Ben asked me again.

“I don’t think Mom and Dad want to leave,” I said.

“No,” Dad said, “not until I know the people we’ve promised to protect are safe.”

I’d helped strangers on the road, helped Uncle Paul and Aunt Caroline on their farm, and saved Alyssa and Ben. But now, when I needed help, everyone except Ben seemed to be allied against me. I wanted to punch something in frustration but knew it wouldn’t do any good. Instead I said as flatly as I could manage, “I’m leaving. Darla needs me.”

“Absolutely not,” Dad said. “We just found each other. We’re not splitting up now.”

“Just a second,” I said, glaring at my father. “I found you, not vice versa. And I owe Darla. My life, if it comes to that.”

“If we could put a stop to the disappearances, be sure the people we promised to protect are safe, we could all try to break out together. But you’re too young to—”

“I’m not some kid.”

“Wait, what’s this about people you promised to protect?” Alyssa asked.

Dad explained the girls’ disappearances to Alyssa. He seemed relieved to change the subject.