Ashes, Ashes aa-1

by Jo Treggiari

  “He liked to climb to the top of the elm tree and look north,” Lucy said, dropping her hand. “He said he wanted to travel up there one day.”

  “Yeah, that’s what he said.” Del sighed. “He probably just needed time to think, but he talked about the argument with you, and Leo and the kids, and then I got so mad at you for picking on him that I wasn’t really paying attention to what he was saying.” She raised her eyes to Lucy’s face. They weren’t snapping with fire anymore, but there was still something hard in them.

  “Aidan can look after himself,” Henry said. “He’s been running wild since he was thirteen, right?”

  Del drew a deep breath. She glanced at Lucy again. “Why did you have to come here?” she said. Her tone was strange. It seemed less angry and more tired. She rubbed her hand over her face and eyes, leaving smeary wet trails mixed with dirt. Her mouth twisted. “We’re not friends, Lucy Holloway,” she said in a voice that was no more than a whisper.

  “Hey now, Lady Del,” Henry said softly. He slung an arm around her shoulders. For a moment she collapsed into him, and then, with another shake of her head, she pushed him away.

  She strode off. Lucy stared after her. She didn’t understand Del at all. One minute she was spitting like an angry cat; the next, she was as emotionless as a robot.

  “That was intense,” Henry said. “Why’d she keep saying your name in that weird way? It was like she was putting a curse on you or something.” He laughed nervously and wiggled his fingers in her face. “Voodoo magic.”

  Lucy shook her head. How could Del hate her so much?

  “Maybe she got too much sun?” Henry said. He rubbed his chin with his gloved hand, staring in the direction Del had taken. “I’ve got to say, though, all that passion she’s bottling up sure makes me wonder. I mean, it’s got to find an outlet, right?”

  “Oh, for God’s sakes, Henry,” Lucy said, trying not to laugh.

  Sammy tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to face him. His hood was pulled forward, and he was wearing a different mask. This one was painted a glossy red with a broad, upturned smiling mouth and little red horns. Holes were cut out for his mouth and eyes. His red-tinged irises gleamed behind it. “He used to watch you and wonder about you. In your camp. He used to say you were the bravest person he knew.”

  Lucy raised surprised eyes to his face. “Me? Why?”

  “Because you were alone and you were surviving,” Sammy said. “Because you just did what needed to be done.”

  “Half the time I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “Yeah, but you kept on anyway.”

  She looked at Sammy properly for the first time. He was shorter than Aidan, probably a shade under six feet. His shoulders were broad, and his gloved hands were wide. He seemed a little clumsy, like he’d recently had a growth spurt. Under his hood she glimpsed a shock of the same dirty blond hair his brother had. And then the gruesome contrast of charred skin. It was smooth, though, not cracked and oozing as she had thought before. The surface was whole. It was underneath that great patches of black and red covered his body, like giant bruises. She thought she could see some hazel in his irises within the bloody whites, and the lobes of his ears were pink, like new skin after a bad sunburn. She thought about what Henry had said and wondered if he was right about the body fixing itself.

  He returned her gaze. “You are brave,” he said with the hint of a smile. She caught a flash of very white teeth. “Look at you right now. Not worried I’m going to crack your head like a walnut and eat your brains?”

  She blushed. “That was so dumb. I just—”

  “—believed the propaganda and the news reports.” He nodded. “You’re not the first.” He shrugged. “They just didn’t know what to do with us. Didn’t know where to put us. It was like we were nonhumans or something just because we got sick. Ralphie still won’t talk to anyone but me and Beth.”

  Lucy was trying to understand her fear. “I think it’s because you survived. You’re sort of like a living, walking reminder that there was a plague.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, well, I can’t do anything about that.”

  “Hey,” said Henry. “Hate to break up the tête-à-tête, but I’m hungry, and if you guys don’t help load and dump the rest of this, Grammalie Rose is going to personally see to it that I starve.”

  Lucy and Sammy exchanged a grin.

  “Pretty please?” Henry said.

  “With sugar on top?” Lucy said.

  “I just can’t resist a whiner,” Sammy said.

  Henry tossed a shovel at him. Sammy caught it.

  “I’ll give you a kiss,” Henry said to Lucy, puckering his lips and opening his arms wide.

  “Henry!” Grammalie Rose yelled from the camp.

  Suddenly, a jumble of shouts and cries rose from the direction of the square. Something had happened. Lucy’s heart started pounding.

  “Henry!” And this time they all heard the shrill note of panic in Grammalie Rose’s voice.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  PLAGUE

  The shrouded lump lying on the mound of bracken leaves and grasses was scarcely recognizable as human. And the sounds that came from it were more like that of a wounded animal. Lucy and Sammy followed Henry into the open space beneath the awnings. Grammalie Rose crouched at the head of the makeshift bed. A few of the youngest kids huddled together in the corner, and Aidan was there, too. He raised his head, meeting Lucy’s eyes briefly. She was shocked at how pale and drawn his face was. He looked much older than seventeen. Henry dropped down to his knees opposite Grammalie and moved the covers aside. Lucy caught a glimpse of charred skin, a gasping mouth.

  “Sue is boiling water for willow bark tea. Aidan soaked some sheets in water. He’s bad,” Grammalie Rose said. She looked at Sammy and beckoned him closer. “Get the children away,” she said in a low voice.

  Sammy nodded. He bent his head and pulled the white and gold mask from beneath his cape and switched it for the horned mask. Then he clapped his hands. “Strawberry hunt in two minutes!” The kids clustered about his legs, jabbering in excited voices, and he led them out into the square.

  “He’s burning up,” Henry said, laying a hand on the man’s forehead. “The willow bark tea won’t bring his temperature down fast enough.” He looked miserable. “What else do we have?”

  “Elder flower, echinacea for the fever; but if the willow isn’t doing any good…” Grammalie Rose’s voice trailed off. “Valerian, black cohosh for the pain: There may be some motherwort left, but I used most of it when Lottie broke her arm. I have a tincture of rosemary for when he is calmer.” Her hand brushed against the man’s face for a moment. Then she pulled two small glass bottles from her pocket. One was filled with a gritty brown powder. The other glowed yellow-green.

  “He’ll probably die,” said Henry. He bit his lip, as if ashamed of what he had said.

  Grammalie Rose soaked a cloth in a pan of water and dabbed it over the man’s face. She muttered under her breath. It sounded like a string of curses. Her eyebrows met in an angry frown over her hawklike nose. She glared at Henry.

  “Then we will try to make him as comfortable as we can. Yes?”

  Henry lowered his head.

  Lucy watched the body writhing beneath the thin covers. She could see blackened skin covering a bald skull and spreading in splotches to the face. His eyes were half-open. The eyeballs were tinged an angry red. She couldn’t distinguish his pupils at all. It was as if the sockets were filled with blood. He thrashed and threw off the sheets. Two thick gold hoops dangled from the charred earlobes, and under the skin of the muscular forearms she glimpsed swirls and bands of dark blue. Tattoos, she realized with a shudder of recognition, almost covered by the dusky hue of bleeding beneath the skin. It was Leo.

  And now he was ill with the plague.

  A feeling of hysteria rose in her throat, and she battled to keep herself under control.

  Leo has the plague. She placed her hand over
her mouth, ashamed of her weakness, and backed away.

  Aidan was on his feet, pacing. The skin above his cheekbone was reddened and shiny. A new injury. Lucy moved around to join him.

  “Did you find him?” she whispered.

  “Yeah. I wasn’t even looking for him. I was just wandering and there he was, on the big road a couple of miles up. I think they dumped him there.” His hands clenched. “He didn’t know me. He fought and I had to force him to come with me. He got a few good punches in.” He rubbed his cheek. “Luckily he’s weak; otherwise he’d have kicked my skull in.”

  Lucy put a comforting hand on Aidan’s arm. He hardly seemed aware of it.

  “He’s been raving, slipping in and out of consciousness. God knows what he’s seeing, or where he thinks he is.” His shoulders slumped. “Monsters. He kept saying monsters. And he screamed like a little kid.” Aidan ran trembling fingers through his hair.

  “He’ll be all right,” Lucy said, trying to inject certainty into her voice. “Like Sammy.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” He swung around and stopped; his arms hung limply at his sides. “We don’t have any medicine. Grammalie Rose has a few home remedies. Herbal teas and powders for headaches and minor injuries, but not for something like this!”

  “I thought the plague was over,” Lucy said. “How can it still be out there when everyone that’s left has already survived it?”

  “I don’t think it will ever go away. It hides and it changes. We can’t fight it.” He groaned and kicked at the ground.

  “Aidan and Lucy,” Grammalie Rose said. “Come and hold him up. He is too heavy for me.” Her raspy voice was calm. Her lips pressed together so firmly, they almost disappeared into the deep wrinkles of her face.

  Lucy hesitated. Mentally she screamed at herself to move, but she couldn’t. She dug her fingernails into her palms.

  “Once the bleeding is visible, the risk of contagion has gone,” Grammalie Rose said. “Two days ago he was perhaps a danger, but now he is only a man in pain.”

  Lucy swallowed her fear and went to the old woman’s side.

  Sue had returned holding a small steaming saucepan filled with a murky liquid. She held the metal handle with hands shrouded by the long sleeves of her sweater. She was chewing on the end of her pigtail, and her eyes were wet.

  “Four heaping teaspoons in two cups of water, Sue?” Henry asked, taking the pot from her. The vapor rising from it smelled dank, like rotting wood.

  “Yes,” Sue said, taking her pigtail out of her mouth. She pulled her fingers through the wet end.

  “Good, my zabko,” Grammalie said. “This will ease his pain. Go now.”

  Sue ran from the tent.

  Grammalie held her hand up, the vial with the brown powder between her fingers. “Let me add valerian. It may help.” Her eyes gleamed like tar. She tipped the opened bottle, tapping in the last few clumps, and then nodded to Henry. Henry swooshed his finger around the liquid, testing the temperature. “We’ll do it quickly,” he told them. He spared a faint smile. “This stuff tastes like crap and he’s not going to like it. He’ll struggle.”

  Lucy took a deep breath and unclenched her fingers. She and Aidan got on either side of Leo and raised his head. Lucy cushioned it on her knees, and clutched his left shoulder and wrist in her hands. Aidan held him still on the other side. Leo screamed at the touch of their hands, as if his skin were being flayed. He bucked, trying to throw them off. His hands twisted and clawed as he attempted to free himself. His fingers were horribly swollen around the knuckles, and the nails were stained a deep purplish red.

  Grammalie Rose pinned his legs under the weight of her body. Leo’s head flailed from side to side. He tossed the covers off his body. His shirt was torn to shreds. Through it, Lucy saw the dusty blackness creeping across his chest. It was as if he had been beaten all over with steel rods. His eyes rolled back until it seemed like he stared at her through the top of his head. His mouth opened in a long, soundless scream. His tongue was black like a bird’s.

  “Hold him,” Grammalie Rose said.

  Henry poured the tea slowly down his throat. After each dose, he pinched Leo’s nostrils closed and waited until he saw his throat swallow convulsively. It seemed cruel and heartless, but Lucy remembered having to give her dog medicine. She’d done it the same way, as quickly as possible and without thinking too much about it. She found herself stroking Leo’s broad forehead and mumbling nonsense to him as though he were a baby.

  Finally the last of the tea disappeared. They held him for five interminable minutes while Leo fought to free himself. Tears dripped from Lucy’s eyes and fell onto his hands.

  Eventually, he stopped straining against them and his breathing eased. He seemed to be asleep or unconscious. Henry sat back on his heels. The saucepan fell from his hand. The clanging thud was a signal to relax their hold on him. Aidan let go of his grip and flexed his cramped fingers. He stood abruptly and with his back to the group. Grammalie Rose took Leo’s hand and enfolded it between her palms. The skin on either side of her mouth was deeply grooved and looked as delicate as cobwebs around her eyes. She took out the small vial of oil, uncapped it, and began smoothing it into Leo’s twisted, lumpy knuckles. The smell was pungent, herbal. It reminded Lucy vividly of the Sunday roast beef dinners her mother had made after church. If she closed her eyes, she could almost see the starched white tablecloth, Rob’s eager fingers dipping into the gravy boat, the mountain of buttery mashed potatoes, and the heat from the oven steaming up the windows.

  Lucy moved back against the tarp wall and sat with her knees folded and her arms wrapped around her calves. She wanted to cover her head with a soft blanket and rock back and forth. It was something she’d done as a child whenever she was upset and needed to escape an unpleasant situation. She couldn’t imagine the pain Leo was experiencing, but she felt she’d shared it somehow. Every spasm he had endured had rocketed through her body, jarred her bones, and made her grit her teeth so hard, the back of her neck was sore. And she was tired, as if she’d just outrun a tsunami again. Her hands shook and her legs felt like rubber. Lucy pulled her sweatshirt down over her knees.

  Aidan came and sat next to her. His shoulder pressed against her arm. He was solid and warm. Without looking at him, she shifted slightly, and his hand reached out and found hers. Their fingers interlocked. Aidan watched Leo for a while. Aidan’s body was tense, his grip on her fingers was almost painful, but finally his shoulders lowered and he relaxed.

  “I was so scared of hurting him,” Lucy said. “He screamed.” She didn’t think she’d ever heard a man scream like that.

  “I doubt he knows what’s going on. It’s like he’s trapped in a nightmare,” Aidan said.

  “He’ll need another dose in about four hours,” said Henry, wiping sweat from his forehead. His hair was soaking wet. His face was pale, but there was a stubborn slant to his mouth that Lucy had never seen. His crooked smile had vanished.

  Lucy asked, “And all you gave him was the willow bark and the valerian?” She stumbled a little over the unfamiliar name.

  “The local Superior Drugs is unfortunately closed for business. Looters took most of the medicine after the first wave. And then flooding took care of the rest. But it’s the same stuff that’s in aspirin.” He nodded toward Grammalie Rose, who was hunched over Leo’s still body. She crooned an odd song with guttural words in a different language. “She knows a lot about herbals. There’s pretty much a natural alternative to most modern pharmaceuticals. Unfortunately for us, not many grow in New York State these days. There’s too much rain.”

  “Will the tea really bring his fever down?”

  “It should, but this disease is tenacious. If his temperature climbs above 103 degrees, it won’t have an effect. We can keep him as cool as possible without sending his body into shock, but other than that…” He shrugged helplessly.

  “Is there something stronger we can try?”

  Henry exchanged a glance w
ith Grammalie Rose.

  “We have other remedies,” she said heavily. “Nightshade. Foxglove.”

  “Great,” Lucy said, and then noticed that everyone was looking grave.

  “They’re not cures,” Aidan said, putting his hand on her shoulder. She reached up and clasped it.

  “Not cures,” she echoed.

  “There are just ways to ease the inevitable,” Grammalie Rose said. “They are remedies for the pain. Permanent.”

  “But Sammy, Beth, Ralph?” Lucy said. “They made it. And Leo, he survived until now.”

  “Sammy, Beth, and Ralph survived, but not because of any magic pill. Call it God’s will, random selection. Luck. But this has gone too far,” Grammalie Rose said, patting Leo’s hand a final time and getting to her feet. Her hand went to her back as if it pained her. Today her legs were clothed in thick black tights and wrapped tightly at the ankles with bandages, and she wore her heavy woolen shawl tied close around her neck, as if she was cold.

  Lucy persisted. “Shouldn’t his immune system have kept him safe?”

  “Maybe the disease has mutated,” Aidan said. The words seemed to hang there.

  Del appeared out of nowhere, exploding into the crowded space. Her knees were badly scratched, her boots crusted with mud, and her hair was loose and wild around her face. She dropped to her knees and grabbed Leo’s hand.

  “Zabko,” Grammalie Rose said, putting her arm around Del’s shoulders and trying to lead her away. “Zabko, he is sleeping.”

  Del shrugged her arm off and leaned forward.

  “Leo,” she said, her mouth inches from his face. “Leo.”

  His eyes flickered open. A spasm snaked across his face. “Del,” he gasped. His voice was raw and thickened, as if the words were being forced through a closed throat. “They let you go.” He reached up and smoothed her hair.