Ashes (Ashes Trilogy 1)

“Boy, they were messy,” Ellie said.

“Where would they go? Why? I don’t get this,” Alex said. She was uneasy, her skin prickling with anxiety. The cabin was a jumble of odors: rotting food, gray ash, dish soap, the metallic sting of tracked-in dirt, even a spike of peppermint chewing gum probably squirreled in one of those jackets. But no roadkill, none of that dead-meat stink, so that was good. Still, the setup was freaky. Her eyes flitted over a bookcase filled with paperbacks and, beside that, a vintage-looking cassette-and-speaker system balanced on a rickety pine table strewn with tapes. Probably mixes, she thought, judging from the cassette still lodged in the now-silenced player. After so many days with nothing more than a few flashlights and firelight, the artificial light was too bright, more like an assault, and hurt her eyes. The sound of the generator had receded to a muted stutter. “This food is old, but the generator’s still going. Other than the lights, what’s the generator powering?”

“Not much,” said Tom. When he turned to gesture behind him, the wood floor squalled. “Refrigerator, as far as I can tell. The record player. There’s a television in the kitchen, so there’s probably a satellite dish on the roof. Doesn’t matter, though; it wouldn’t work now anyway. There’s a woodstove in the kitchen—one of those really old cast-iron jobs with an oven—and a hand pump for water. No toilets or showers. There must be an outhouse.”

“No shower?” Ellie asked, clearly dismayed.

“Just a wood tub in the kitchen next to the stove and a big old sponge. Cheer up, kiddo. The Amish do it. Betcha those folks up near Oren are doing that right now.”

“Well, I’m not Amish and we’re not in Oren,” Ellie grumbled.

“What about heat?” Alex said. “Heaters draw a lot of power.”

“Yeah, that’s a good thought. No fireplaces in the bedrooms, but there are outlets. So there must be portable heaters somewhere. No washer or dryer, for that matter.”

“You mean, they did their clothes by hand?” Ellie said. “By hand?”

“Must’ve.” Tom scratched his head. “This is all kind of weird. I mean, this station is pretty barebones.”

“Not even a radio? Like, you know, to call for help?” When Tom shook his head, Alex wanted to point out that this was some pisspoor excuse for a ranger station, but only said, “So why keep the generator on if you’re leaving?”

“Maybe they wanted to find their way back,” Ellie said. “It’s really dark.”

“They’d know the way, honey,” Tom said.

“So maybe they left the lights on to make sure people like us knew how to find them, so we’d come inside.”

Tom and Alex shared startled glances. “Jesus, I never thought of that,” Tom said.

Alex had visions of a sudden flash and then the boom of an explosion. Relax, this isn’t Afghanistan. “You cleared it, right? There’s nothing here? Nothing outside?”

“As far as I can tell.”

“What about the garage?”

“I only looked for a second. There are a bunch of tools, maybe a snowmobile or two, but I definitely saw a Jeep and … come to think of it …”

“What?”

Tom gave her a queer look. “There’s a pretty old truck in there.”

“Wait a second. Didn’t you say that older trucks and cars might work?” When Tom nodded, she said, “So why didn’t they take it?”

“Maybe it’s out of gas,” said Ellie.

“No, there’s an inground pump by the garage.”

“So? Maybe they couldn’t fill the tank.”

“Or it might not be as old as I think. I only saw it for a moment.” Tom debated another half second, then said, “Look, if it was a trap, whatever was supposed to happen would’ve by now. Most booby traps are set with trip wires, and we already know that a cell phone signal wouldn’t work here anyway. Now I opened every door and every closet, the pantry. On the other hand …”

“What?”

Tom inclined his head at the open windows. “You want to light up a target, that’s the way to do it. Only my guess is they’d have shot us by now.”

Alex didn’t think that was such a comfort. “There’s no one out there.”

“That we saw.”

“Maybe they’re only gone for now,” Ellie said. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, with Mina at her side.

“Mina would’ve known,” Alex said. And maybe me, too.

Ellie shrugged. “Maybe they check back to see if someone’s taken the bait.”

“She’s got a point,” Tom said. He ran a hand through his hair. “For all we know, turning off the generator is some kind of signal.”

“Maybe the generator will blow up if you turn it off,” Ellie suggested.

“Can you check for that?” Alex asked Tom.

Tom nodded. “But I’m wondering if maybe we should stay at all.”

“You mean, go back? Outside?” Ellie said. The bright, brassy light had washed her skin yellow and the dirt smudging her cheeks, neck, and ears pewter gray. Her blonde hair was lusterless and clotted with trail rubbish, and her Hello Kitty parka was nearly black. Alex thought she probably looked just as bad, and suddenly, the idea of a long hot soak made her nearly faint with anticipation. “I don’t want to go back into the woods,” Ellie said.

“We wouldn’t have to go far. We could even stay on the lookout towe—” Tom’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit.”

This time, Alex insisted on taking the Winchester: “It’s not like the dog can climb up with you, and the Winchester has a scope.” “Yeah, but by the time you see the muzzle flash, I’m dead.” But Tom didn’t have any better ideas, and in the end, he found that the tower was little more than a platform with a roof, and deserted.

They all agreed then. They were psyching themselves out. The only precaution they took was to cut the generator, which Tom did as Alex, Ellie, and the dog waited at a safe distance. There was no ka-boom, and after doing so long without electricity, getting rid of the racket and that brassy artificial light was a relief.

As tired as they were, they were all too keyed up to sleep and so set about putting the station to rights. Alex scrounged up lanterns, and Tom brought in armfuls of wood from one of two piles laid out neatly beneath a lean-to at the back of the station and got a fire going in the woodstove. Flopping alongside, the dog promptly dozed off. After Alex pumped water into several large pots, she set those on the woodstove to heat, and then she and Ellie gathered up dirty dishes to add to those already piled in the sink. While Ellie explored the bedrooms, Alex took a quick inventory of the refrigerator and pantry. There was fruit in the refrigerator—oranges and apples—as well as eggs, a carton of milk, butter, a variety of vegetables, and a bonus: two packages of ground beef, still fresh, and a string of sausages. Steaks and a roast, and two cartons of ice cream—chocolate and rocky road—in the freezer. The pantry was as well stocked as the woodpile, stuffed to overflowing with canned goods; boxes of dried fruit, powdered milk, and instant eggs; packets of beef jerky; bags of sugar and flour and baking soda, as well as tins of baking powder; cartons of oatmeal, grits, and barley; dried beans; two sacks of potatoes; onions and garlic; and, of course, MREs. There was so much food—and so much variety—Alex got a little giddy.