Shadows (Ashes Trilogy 2)

Reaching out with both hands, he pushed aside snow until he got to the ice, then flattened his palms and dug in. The gloves curled only grudgingly, and he realized the fabric had frozen to the ice. Could he use that? Maybe keep himself from drowning by letting his arms freeze to the ice?

No good. I’ll still die of hypothermia. Have to get out of the water. He scissored his legs as hard as he could. His body popped up, lurched forward like an ungainly seal. Not far. Even without his parka, he was sodden, his clothes waterlogged and very heavy. He didn’t have the strength. But his chest was on the surface now, beginning to freeze to the ice, and that was a start.

He sensed movement. The dog. Moving away? He was so weak he could only whisper the dog’s name. Nothing. Then, the black closed down, and Raleigh snuffled at his ear.

“Oh God.” Tom sobbed out a breath. Slipping one cautious hand from a glove, he reached up until he felt the dog’s ruff. The dog responded by licking his fingers. The urge to grab onto the animal was so great he had to force himself to go slowly. No fast moves, nothing sudden . . . easy, easy . . . and then Tom’s fingers slid up and under the dog’s collar.

The dog didn’t shy away. Tom pulled a little harder and then tensed his right arm. At the sudden tug, the dog began to back away, which was fine, exactly what he needed as he kicked and swam his way through snow.

And then he was out, completely, flopping like a hooked trout onto the ice. Water streamed from his body. He lay on his back, spread-eagled, sucking air as the dog licked water from his face.

Get up, he thought. Get up or you’ll freeze to the ice. Come on, get up, get off the ice, get warm.

Oh, but the dog’s tongue was warm, and so was its breath, and he was so tired. Numb, actually. No feeling in his feet or hands, and so cold he wasn’t even shivering. He just had to rest a few seconds was all.

Don’t pass out. He thought his eyes were open, but it was so dark. The dog nosed his neck and then he felt its paw on his chest. Come on, get up, don’t pass out, you can’t pass out—

He was still thinking that when he did.

40

Ray pulled the trigger. The Browning’s action clicked and snapped— And that was all.

Clearly waiting for the boom, Ray held his stance for a fraction of a second, then blinked and stared, stupidly, at the useless weapon.

“No.” He tossed away the Browning with a fast, quick flick as if the metal had suddenly flared red-hot. Gulping, he stumbled back a step, hands up, palms out. “N-no, no!”

Leopard moved. His right hand flashed, and then the Glock’s muzzle, wicked and black, dug into the nude space just above Ray’s nose.

“Don’t!” Alex and Daniel cried at the same moment. “Stop!”

Daniel shouted. “Don’t do this!”

“Rubeee?” Ray’s eyes, wild with terror, rolled in their sockets, trying to find his wife, but she had fainted in a bright, bloodred lake. “Ru—”

There was a sudden tongue of muzzle flash, and the Glock bucked.

41

The shot echoed and dissolved, shredded by snow and wind. The air became leaden with the reek of burned hair and cooked brain and fresh death—and the Changed, always the fume and choke of the Changed. Sharon still had Ruby’s wrist in a death grip. Blood splashed the big woman from the neck down. Ruby was limp and still.

Stepping away from Ray’s body, Leopard slid his Glock into his waistband as Acne helped Beretta to his feet. Spider still hovered over Jack, whose face was white as milky glass. Only the boy’s eyes showed any sign of life, and they ticked from the ruin of Ray’s head to his brother. Daniel was the color of ash and still as a statue in a swirl of snow, like the dead air at a hurricane’s heart.

Of all people, Sharon broke the silence. “There, you got what you wanted. The choice was made. Doesn’t matter if the boy did it or not.”

Oh, yes, it did. Alex understood why the Changed had offered only that particular weapon. She also realized something else.

Nathan’s rifle had not misfired or jammed after all. If that were true, the barrel would’ve blown apart.

She thought back to Nathan’s reluctance and Jess’s insistence. Piece of cake, really. Remove the bolt action, slip out the firing pin or fatigue the spring, replace the bolt—and no one would be the wiser. She could see Nathan playacting, because she was certain Jess would’ve anticipated that, all things being equal, Alex would try to fight back when the Changed attacked and might even get off a shot.

So the Browning was never meant to fire. The old woman wouldn’t want to risk Alex turning the tables and killing her grandson.

Which means that she knew . Wolf was out there, waiting. Jess knew. Alex had been right about something else, too. This was a test. The Changed must’ve inspected the rifle and known it was useless. They’d only wanted to see what Daniel would do. Why, she didn’t know, but the final outcome—what would happen next—was never in doubt.

“Don’t do this,” she said. Heads swiveled; the eyes of all the Changed locked. “You have the other kids. You have us. How much more do you need? You have enough to last you a good long time. You don’t need to do this.”

“What?” She saw the slow dawn of horror on Daniel’s face as he finally understood. “No.” He looked around, wildly. “Please, let him go, please.”

“Daniel?” Jack’s voice rose, and then the little boy’s head craned around to Spider, who was planting her feet: all the better to keep her balance. Her wound dripped crocodile tears of bloody pus. “Daniel?” Jack said. “Daniel?”

“No!” Alex screamed it, and so did Daniel. She sprang for Spider, but then Leopard’s crew converged. They slammed her, bucking and kicking, to the snow. “He’s just a boy!” she cried. “He’s just a little boy!”

Across the circle, she saw Daniel suddenly churning through the snow, his face contorted in a spasm of love and fury and despair.

“No, please, God, no!” he shrieked. “Nononononono!”

It took five of them to hold Daniel down. It took Spider only a minute.

Part 4 - In the Valley of the Shadow, In the Hour of the Monster

42

“Come on!” Sharon bawled. She hunched over an unconscious Ruby, now sprawled on a braided rug before the guesthouse fireplace. A strong woman and big, not even Sharon could stop the thin, fitful blood-geysers pumping from Ruby’s severed wrist. The rug was slowly turning a deep rust color as Ruby’s arteries emptied. “Come on, come on, come on!”