Ashes (Ashes Trilogy 1)

God, this was all too familiar. “How long before he”—she faltered over the word—“before he changed?”

“End of the second day is when things went to hell. We’d made camp, mainly because Jim had stopped talking and was just staring, like guys after an IED’s gone off, or if they’ve seen too many other guys get blown up. Combat fatigue, shell shock … you know. I went off to get water and then I heard the shots. By the time I made it back, it was over. I got off two shots with the Winchester, for all the good that did.”

His voice faded. She waited.

“I think the reason Earl died was because he hesitated, or maybe he was firing wild. Jim was fast when he was sane, and you saw him. He was crazy and fast. Earl probably couldn’t believe his kid was coming after him. After that, I couldn’t just leave. I kept hoping Jim’d snap out of it. Tracking him took some time. Whatever else he was, he was still partly Jim. He knew how to evade. It was part of our training. Then I started to find animals. You could tell that something had been at them, know what I’m saying?” When she nodded, he said, “Then I heard Ellie and …” He spread his hands. “You know the rest.”

“I’m sorry you had to shoot your friend,” she said.

He looked away, but not before she saw the sudden shine in his eyes. “You know what I don’t understand? Why not me or Earl? Why did Stan die? And why, out of all of us, only Jim?”

“But it wasn’t just Jim,” she said.

“Yeah, Ellie told me about those kids. Still doesn’t make sense.”

“What if it’s got to do with age?”

“How do you figure?”

Since the idea had only just occurred to her, she wasn’t sure what she was groping toward. “I’m seventeen, almost eighteen. You’re—”

“Twenty. Twenty-one, come December.”

“Was Jim older or younger than you?”

He thought about it. “Not too many years older. Maybe … twenty-four, twenty-five?”

“So what if being older means the change happens later?”

“Maybe.” He scratched his head. “That doesn’t explain why Stan died. You and I are younger than Jim, but those brain-zapped kids you saw were also about our age. Only it can’t be just age, because we’re okay. So is Ellie.”

So far. He didn’t say that, but he might as well have. She said nothing for a moment. The fire popped. A shower of sparks flared, then died. Tom’s scent—that complex, musky spice—touched something deep in her chest. And that made her think of something else.

The dogs smelled Jim, and so did I. I smelled those kids, but Ellie didn’t. But what does that mean?

“What about smell?” she asked.

Tom looked confused. “Smell?”

“Yeah. Did Jim … did he complain of a weird smell before he, you know, changed?”

“No,” Tom said. “I don’t believe he did.”

That night, the moon was green.

25

The sound reached them two days later, while they were still several miles from the station. At first, Alex thought the sound might be a woodpecker—likely a big pileated thwacking some tree. As they got closer, though, she realized that what they were hearing was not an animal at all. The sound came very fast, a trip-hammer stutter: putta-putta-putta-putta-putta.

Now the dog was alert, balanced on its three good legs. “What is that?” Ellie asked. She’d tired some miles back, but Tom had insisted they go on. When she refused to budge, he’d swept her into his arms and labored up the nearly vertical corkscrew of a trail without complaint. Now Ellie squirmed out of his arms, and her face broke into a smile that stretched from ear to ear. “It’s a machine. Tom, it’s an engine!”

“Shh.” Tom cocked his head, listening hard. “I think …”

“She’s right,” Alex said. Her breath thinned. She stood stock-still, every nerve quivering like a hound on point, and her fatigue—these last six miles had been all uphill—vanished. “Oh my God, that sounds like a generator. Tom, maybe they fixed things somehow, not just here but everywhere.”

“See, see?” Ellie beamed in triumph. “You’re wrong.”

“I don’t like it.” Tom did not smile. “First off, not every generator uses a computer, which means that someone had to throw the transfer switch manually. But it’s been too long: eight days since the Zap.”

“So what?” asked Ellie.

“So that means the generator’s been running for a really long time, and most generators can’t, not without refueling about every four hours.”

“Maybe they’re really prepared and have lots of fuel. Or maybe the generator wasn’t started until only a couple days ago, or they’ve run it only once in a while. Who cares?” asked Alex.

“There’s still plenty of daylight,” Tom said. “Why run a generator if you don’t need to?”

She couldn’t come up with a good answer. “Look, whoever’s there has power. That’s—” She saw the sudden, intent expression on Tom’s face. “What?”

“Don’t you hear it?”

Ellie frowned. “Hear what?”

“Listen hard, behind the engine sound.” Tom closed his eyes. “There it is again.”

Alex shut her eyes and concentrated, and then she caught it: something low and hollow and rhythmic. Not mechanical, but—

“A song.” Ellie gasped. “It’s music.”

Okay, Alex had to admit, that was very strange. Limited resources, four hours of power at a pop, and you waste it playing records? If Tom’s EMP theory was right, it would have to be a record, too; a CD player wouldn’t work, but an old turntable would. Would a tape deck?

But Tom might be wrong, or maybe they grounded the players somehow.

“If they can play music,” Ellie said, “that means you’re wrong, Tom.”

“I hope I am, Ellie,” Tom said patiently. “I really do. But here’s what’s bothering me, honey. You’re in the middle of the woods. As far as you know, there’s no power—and you advertise that you’ve got it? You waste power playing music?”

“Tom,” Alex said, “they’re rangers. Maybe they’re trying to attract attention. You know, tell people that they’re open for business.”