Ashes (Ashes Trilogy 1)

“Hey!” She thrashed through the brush. “What are you doing?”

At the sound of Alex’s voice, Ellie jumped, threw a startled look over her shoulder, and then must’ve decided that she did not like what she saw, because she was already up, backing away, her hands up as Alex crashed out of the woods. “I was just looking!”

Alex’s eyes dropped, and then her heart fell.

The case was open.

12

“I wasn’t going to steal anything,” Ellie said. Her voice was a little gluey, her breath edged with a nip of cinnamon. “I was just trying to help.”

“Help?” Alex’s voice came out hoarse and ragged with rage. “You ate a whole power bar.”

“I was hungry.” Ellie tried a defiant glare, which, somehow, made her look even more pathetic. A pearl of a tear glistened on one cheek.

She wanted to strangle the kid. It wasn’t just about the power bar. “You ate a day’s worth of food—”

“It was one bar—”

“And you wanted to know what was in the case! That’s the real reason you went into my things.”

“Well, so what?” Ellie shouted. She stamped her foot. Her eyes blazed. “It was no big deal! It’s just a Bible and a couple of baggies. Why are you carrying around crap like that anyway?”

“It’s not crap.” Aunt Hannah’s Bible lay on the ground. The Bible wasn’t strictly part of the game plan but was sturdy enough to cushion the two, heavy-gauge plastic bags.

Ellie had teased out the letter as well. Alexandra Bethany was scrolled in funky purple ink across the envelope, and the paper smelled, very faintly, of lavender and spice. Alex had slid the letter into the Bible at random, not really with any particular passage in mind. She’d never been sold on the Bible as Ouija board, but somehow, the letter had found its way to Job: Wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes.

“Is that you?” Ellie asked.

Alex didn’t reply. Turning the envelope over in her hand, she saw that the back flap was intact. She slid the letter back to its place in Job and squared the Bible into the bottom of the case. Then she gingerly cupped the larger of the plastic bags in both hands. The bag was heavy, maybe eight pounds, and might easily split, but her careful eyes spotted no rips or tears. The contents were lumpy and gray and sifted in her hands like sand, and she almost allowed herself to think that it was only dust.

“Why,” asked Ellie, “are you carrying around dirt?”

13

“Are we going to stop soon?” When Alex didn’t reply, Ellie tried again. “It’s getting dark. Are we going to stop—”

“Yes,” Alex said. She did not turn around. They’d been walking steadily for what Alex judged had been about two hours, and in virtual silence. The sun was just skimming the trees immediately behind, and the light was fading as the afternoon began slipping into night. It had gotten even colder, the canopy of high, dense pines trapping the chill. A thick carpet of pine needles muffled their steps as effectively as heavy snow.

Ahead, she picked out a dilapidated trailmarker tacked to an oak, the sign listing to the left on a single rusted nail head:

MOSS KNOB 9.7 MI

FIRE MOUNTAIN 13.7 MI

LUNA LAKE 32 MI

Alex’s stomach cramped. Over thirty miles to the lake? That was farther than she’d estimated. If only she had her gear—and especially her maps—she might be able to figure out a shorter route.

Yeah, but you don’t, so stop driving yourself crazy. Just stay calm; you can deal with this.

Another arrow, canted at a forty-five-degree angle and pointing northwest, helpfully noted that in a little less than a quarter mile they could put up at the Spruce Valley campsite. Okay, that was good.

“Another fifteen minutes or so and we’ll hit the campsite,” Alex said. “We’ll stay there overnight.”

“Outside?”

“There might be a shelter.”

“But there’s no water; there’s, like, nothing.”

“There’ll be water. The map said there was a stream.”

“A stream? But … how will I go to the bathroom? We haven’t even got a tent. I don’t want to stay in the woods. It’s spooky in the woods.”

Had she ever been such a major pain in the ass when she was a kid? “Look, Ellie, this is the way it is. We sleep in the woods. We drink what we can purify. We share the food.” She paused a little—yeah, she was rubbing it in—and then went on. “If we’re very lucky, we’ll get to the rangers in a couple of days. Now this isn’t exactly my idea of fun either, but it’s what we’ve got. Whine all you want, but it won’t change anything, all right?”

“No, it’s not all right.” Again with the footstomping, only this time it was more like a thud because of the pine needles. If the kid had felt bad about, oh, stealing food, that had sure worn off fast. “I don’t want to stay here. I don’t want to sleep in the woods. I don’t even have my sleeping bag.”

“I’ll show you how to make—”

“I want a bath. I want a shower. I want to wash my hair.”

“Ellie.” She had to clench her fists to keep from screaming. “You’re in the middle of the woods. You wouldn’t have had a shower anyway. If I had my gear, we could’ve washed—”

“But I smell him!” Ellie grabbed her hair in both hands. “I’ve got Grandpa all over me! I’ve got his bl-blood under my nails and in my h-hair …” She began to sob.

Alex’s anger evaporated. At that moment, she saw Ellie for what she was: bloodspattered, rumpled, exhausted. And very, very young. Of course Ellie was scared. In less than twelve hours, she’d lost her grandfather, left behind her dead father’s dog, nearly fallen off a mountain, and now was stuck with some stranger who was just about as scared as she was. Who’d gone ballistic over, yeah, a bunch of dirt and a letter from a dead woman.

“Hey, I’m really sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Alex reached for the girl’s shoulder, meaning to give a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll figure out some way to—”

“No!” Ellie ducked away. “Don’t touch me! I hate you! Just leave me alone!”

“Ellie,” Alex called, but the girl had turned and was thudding down the trail. Sighing, Alex trudged after. Ellie was headed in the right direction and wouldn’t go far. Just like a little kid who runs away and ends up sitting on the basement steps. Despite everything, her mouth moved in a grin. Hadn’t she once—