Monsters: The Ashes Trilogy

by Ilsa J. Bick

  “I don’t think she can do it,” Chris said. At the sound of her name, Ellie had turned an almost listless circle. She wore the shocked expression of the lone survivor of a car crash. Ten feet beyond her was Mina, who looked just as spent. She won’t make it. Stripping out of Jayden’s parka, he sucked air against a slap of cold on his bare chest, then dropped to the ice and began working the laces of his boots. “I’m going after her.”

  “Are you crazy?” Jayden clutched his shoulder. “You’ll drown, too.”

  “No, I won’t,” he said, stripping off his boots. But people his age did die; he’d read about a fifteen-year-old kid who’d fallen through ice and had a heart attack from the shock. “Even in freezing water, it takes a little while, and I won’t be in that long. You’ve got the rope, you’ve got the horse.” Peeling off his socks, he scooped up the rope and threw in a quick bowline knot. Ellie would be too frightened and probably too weak to hold on, but if he could get the rope under her arms … He stood, screwing up his face against the sting on his bare feet. “All I have to do is get to her. Then you pull her in.” He would try to grab the dog, too, or at least coax it to follow.

  “All right.” Jayden’s jaw set. “Go. Hurry, Chris. Go go go!”

  Blowing out two quick breaths, Chris inhaled deep and long, then plunged off the ice. The cold was much worse than he’d expected, but he kept focused, kept moving. Surfacing, he blew out, sucked in another breath, and started pulling for the girl.

  “Ellie,” he panted. He was trying not to hyperventilate, reminding himself that he would use up less energy if he stayed calm, took slow breaths. But, oh my God, the burn … His bare chest was already numb. Lightning shocks of pain lanced from his feet to his hips. “Ellie, I’m right here,” he said. Those fifty feet never seemed so long, and he suddenly wondered just how much rope they had. God, we never checked. Too late to think about that now. He watched water slop around her chin and then her nose; saw how she didn’t flinch. Losing it.

  “Listen to me, Ellie,” he called. “Are you listening? Put your head all the way back. Look at the sky, Ellie, look at the sky.”

  Her staring eyes rolled. They were glazed, and he wasn’t sure she knew who he was. Then her head lolled back, but in slow motion, as if she were truly at the end of her strength.

  Almost there. “Good, good.” Turning to face the way he’d come, he paid out rope, praying that he didn’t run out. Jayden, he saw, had guided his horse a little closer. Can’t drop the rope either. The rope would sink, and once it was gone, it was gone. He could probably swim with her, but the cold was starting to get to him, too. To his left, the dog was paddling toward him now. Get the rope around Ellie, grab the dog, and then we all—

  Then, suddenly, he was out of rope, and still short.

  Shit. “Ellie.” Grabbing the loop with one hand, he swam until the rope was taut and actually out of the water, then stretched his dripping, freezing free hand. Six lousy inches … “Ellie, you have to come toward me. E-Ellie, honey, take my hand. C-come on, you can do it!”

  He watched her arms move but only feebly. One limp hand broke the surface, flopping like a fish. “E-Ellie, t-try again,” he said, his teeth stuttering, his breath starting to come up short, the cold like iron cinching down around his ribs. So close. Thinking he really was going to have to let go of the rope, grab her, then swim for it. Do something and do it now.

  Her hand came up in that same dreamy slow motion. This time, he lunged, hoping the sudden lurch wouldn’t send the packhorse into a panic. He felt the slap of her hand, icy and wooden. His own fingers, numbing fast, cramped around her wrist and reeled her in.

  “Okay, good, you’re doing great,” he said. She was shivering so hard the water danced. He worked the rope over her head and under her shoulders. The dog was there now, too, nudging at his shoulder with its snout. “I see you, girl, hang on, hang on,” he said, unsure which girl he was talking to now. “Ellie,” he said, getting his face in hers, grabbing her hands and trying to bend her fingers to curve around the rope. “You have to hang on. I’ll help you, but I’ve got to help Mina, too.… ”

  That did something. He saw a tremor shiver over Ellie’s face, her head slowly turn, her shock-trauma eyes crawling past him. “Muh-muh-muh,” she stuttered.

  “Right, it’s Mina. You have to help Mina.” Puffing now, treading more from memory, his feet numb and legs leaden. How long had he been in the water? Five minutes? He could only imagine how well her brain probably wasn’t working right now. But she recognizes the dog. Still holding her hands around the rope, he got his free arm under the dog’s chest. Please, Mina, don’t panic, don’t bite me. Chuffing, the dog let out a piteous whine and then stretched for Ellie, its tongue flicking out to try and lick her face.

  “Muh-huh-huh,” Ellie gasped. He could see the white crescents as her eyes began to roll back into her skull. Her fingers were chalk. “Cuh-Cuh-Chrisss …”

  “I’m h-here,” he stammered. Won’t let you go. He sucked in a breath and pushed it out in a shout: “Juh-Jayden, pull! Pull!”

  87

  “It should be me,” Ellie said, cradling Bella’s head in her lap. Despite the dance of orange light from a fire Jayden and Connor had started two hours ago, her face was drawn and ashen. Her eyes crawled from Jayden, who looked uncertain, to a tight-lipped Hannah, who only looked more furious by the second. “She’s my horse.”

  “But there’s no need. Jayden can do this, or Connor,” Hannah said, and Chris thought she really was trying to keep a lid on it. Jayden had refused to go anywhere without warming Ellie first. Chilled to his marrow, Chris hadn’t argued. Stripping the girl out of her sodden clothes, they wrapped her in a saddle blanket and Jayden’s parka. Chris had accepted Jayden’s sweater and then waited, next to the fire, with Ellie cradled in his arms and the dog practically in his lap, too, while Jayden rode for help. He’d returned with clothing, thermoses of hot soup and tea—and a fuming Hannah.

  “What you need is to stop fighting me, Ellie,” Hannah pressed. “You need to come home.”

  “I’m not fighting. I’m just saying.” Ellie’s lower lip quivered. Bundled in a watch cap, two sweaters, snow pants, two pairs of socks, and a parka, she reminded Chris of the shrunken old women, swathed beneath reams of blankets, to whom he’d used to read back at Rule’s hospice. At Ellie’s tone, Bella let out another moan through a froth of scarlet foam. Gulping back a sob, Ellie stroked the horse’s poll. “I should be the one to do it. I had to leave Eli and Roc. Don’t make me leave Bella, too.”

  “It’s not the same. Eli and Roc were not your fault.” Hannah said it to Ellie but aimed daggers at him.

  Chris knew she was right. This whole mess—the barn; Bella; Eli and Roc, trapped under the ice or at the bottom of the lake—was all on him. No one wanted to say it, but Chris thought they might not find the boy and his dog until spring, if then.

  “Yes, it is. Cutting the ice was my idea, and now E-Eli …” Ellie looked up at Jayden. “Is my gun big enough? For Bella?”

  Jayden shook his head. “You’d need to use one of our rifles.”

  “Which would be much too heavy,” Hannah put in. “It’s not your job, Ellie. You’re not old enough. If you love Bella, you’ll let us end her suffering.”

  “Hannah’s right.” Jayden bent, reached a tentative hand. “We have to go, Ellie. It’s getting late. Hannah has to check Isaac, and the animals need us. Wouldn’t you like to help?”

  “Yes, but …” Ellie’s brimming eyes overflowed. Bella groaned again. “Shh, girl.” Ellie impatiently backhanded tears from her cheeks. “It’s okay.” To Jayden: “Of course, I’ll help. But I want to help my horse, too.”

  “Then you’ll let us—” Hannah began.

  “I’ll help you, Ellie,” Chris said.

  Hannah turned him a frosty glare. “Thanks, Chris.” She said it like he was a bug. “But this has nothing to do with you.”

  No, it’s got everything to do with me. Ignoring Hannah, he s
quatted until he and Ellie were eye to eye. “We can use my gun.”

  “Chris,” Hannah said.

  The distress on Ellie’s face eased for a second before clenching again. “But it’s too heavy for me.”

  “Chris,” Hannah said again.

  “Leave him alone, Hannah,” Jayden said.

  “What?” Hannah goggled up at the other boy, who only returned her look with a resolute expression. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me,” he said. “I have a say in this, too, remember?”

  “Jayden, this isn’t the time to—”

  “Here’s what we’ll do,” Chris said to Ellie. “We’ll hold the rifle together. I’ll keep it steady and you pull the trigger. You’ll have to use both trigger fingers, but you can do it.”

  “Really?” Ellie’s chin quivered. “You’d do that?”

  “Chris,” Hannah rasped, clearly having abandoned her argument with Jayden. To his ears, she sounded as if she were clamping back an impulse either to scream or blow his head off. Possibly both. “Ellie is too young to—”

  “It’s her choice, Hannah.” Chris thought there was no irony in his tone. “Isn’t choice what you’re all about?”

  “What?” Hannah blinked as if he’d slapped her, and then all her frustration—and her grief, Chris thought—poured out in a poisonous rush. “Don’t twist this around. This is your fault, your responsibility. You brought this on us. You think helping her with something like this makes up for what you’ve done? For what you didn’t do today?”

  “Hannah,” Jayden said. “That’s not fair. We killed three. You weren’t there.”

  Her eyes blazed in the firelight. “I didn’t need to be. Chris had Lena. You said so. But he didn’t take the shot. I don’t know if I care to understand why—”

  “For the same reason I’m not sure I could shoot you,” Chris said, roughly. He kept reliving the moment: Lena in his sights, her face huge in the scope and so … Changed; that terrible sweep of mingled pity and dismay that stole his breath and robbed him of the chance to end this. Well, end her. He’d shot, finally, but pulled it at the last second. Then, it was all about Ellie. “I’d feel the same about Jayden, or anyone I know or care about.”

  Hannah gave a brittle laugh. “This is caring? You led them to us. You should’ve recognized what was happening to Lena, but you were blind, Chris; you were willfully blind. If you’d been honest from the beginning, we could’ve taken precautions. We could’ve left.”

  “We’ll still have to leave,” Jayden said. His face had paled.

  “Yes, but on our terms, not after losing animals, a child. After Lena killed her own brother.”

  “Hannah.” Ellie’s face knotted. “Don’t. Don’t yell at Chris.”

  “You think you can wash away that kind of blood, Chris? There’s no way you can make this right!” She actually balled her fist and shook it in his face. “Isaac’s old. That fire did him no favors. If he lives, he might forgive you. You and Jayden may be best friends all of a sudden—”

  “Hannah,” Jayden said.

  “And maybe Jayden understands, but I don’t. I wish you had died.”

  “Hannah!” Jayden snatched her wrist. “Stop this!”

  “Let me go, let me—” The crack her palm made on Jayden’s cheek was brisk as a rifle shot. Seething, she wrenched free and screamed at Chris, “I wished we’d never met you! I wished you’d stayed dead! Why couldn’t you have died, why didn’t you die?”

  “Hannah!” Ellie said. “Stop! Jayden, make her—”

  “I don’t know, Hannah.” Every word was another twist of the knife, and Chris thought he deserved it all. What could he say? I was afraid? “I don’t know why I’m alive, and I’m sorry I didn’t die. You want me to leave and I will, first thing.”

  “No,” Ellie began.

  “Oh yes, of course.” Hannah started for him. “Leave now, leave us to deal with your mess—”

  Jayden put himself between Chris and Hannah. “What are you doing?” When she looked like she was going to swing again, Jayden put up his hands to ward her off. “What are you?”

  “What am I?” That stole the wind from her sails for a second. She turned him an incredulous look. “What do you mean? I’m who I always was. I’m trying to keep us alive.”

  “Not this way,” Jayden said quietly. “Yours is not the only voice, Hannah. It can’t be.”

  “If you won’t listen to me, listen to Jayden,” Chris said. “You need to get control of yourself. This is Ellie’s right, and I’m going to help her. If you really cared, if this was about her and not you, you’d see that.”

  Hannah opened her mouth, but Jayden said, “Please, shut the hell up, Hannah.”

  “Jayden.” Her face crumpled with shock. “You’re taking his side?”

  “Chris was scared, and I would never hit you. Think about that. And, no, I’m taking Ellie’s side.” Showing her his back before she could reply, Jayden nodded at Chris.

  He didn’t need any more permission and paid Hannah no more mind. Chris cupped Ellie’s hands. “Let me help you with Bella, okay? And tell Mina to lie down.”

  Together, they eased the horse’s head to the snow. He waited, ignoring Hannah, who still fumed, but silently now, as Ellie tended to the dog and then bent to whisper into her mare’s ear and kiss the horse’s nose.

  “Okay, this has a big kick, so be ready.” Standing behind the little girl, he positioned her hands on the .30-06, then held the rifle’s muzzle an inch from Bella’s ear. “I’ve got it. Pull the trigger when you’re ready.”

  “Okay.” Ellie craned a look. “Thank you, Chris.”

  Her face shimmered, and he thought it was a good thing he didn’t have to aim much, because he’d have to wipe his eyes. He had never felt more ashamed. This little girl was thanking him for getting her friend killed, and her horse, too. In a few more hours, he would also have to tell her about Alex and break her heart all over again. Jayden would hate him then, too.

  But no more lies, Dad. You and I are done.

  And was this Jess now, this sigh that might be wind or spirit: That’s right, Chris. Let go of the hammer.

  “I’m so sorry, Ellie,” he said.

  “I know.” She looked back at her horse. “Love you, girl,” she said to Bella, and pulled the trigger.

  88

  “Oh, boy-o, it’s not that tough,” Finn said, as if he really didn’t care, like they were two buddies hanging out in the old man’s tent, having a couple of cold brews after a hard day. Wielding his parang, Finn carefully shaved skin from a raw rump roast, squared on a cutting board, that might have been beef with excellent marbling. In a saner world, that is. Because that smudge of blue ink? Odds were high it didn’t say USDA SELECT. “Just tell me: who’s the girl?”

  “I … I d-don’t … uhhh.” Pete’s neck rocked as another sudden spasm bolted through his head. His jaws locked to corral a hiss. “Don’t … know.”

  “Now why don’t I believe that?” Finn sliced a thick, two-inch steak, probably against the grain. “I may not be a mind reader, but I saw your face. Why won’t you give me a name?”

  “Because I …” Another shuddering brain bomb. They’d been at this brutal game for the last five hours, ever since leaving the smoldering ruin of the lake house. Peter had read stories about people with brain aneurysms. The very few who survived said it was having nails pounded through their skulls. This was like that: intense pain, a pulse in the center of Peter’s head and right behind his eyes, like the winged thing was scooping out more real estate with its claws. Not as awful as the brain storm that seized him that day on the snow with Davey, though. So why not? Think, Peter; this is important.

  And yet … he didn’t want Finn’s fingers completely out of his head. As much as the brain bomb hurt, Peter craved that electric red swoon more. When Finn sent Davey and his altered Changed after Simon and Penny, the rush had been so intense, so good, the moan of pleasure escaped before Peter could trap it. Every
muscle ached to join in the hunt. The blood. Finn knew it, too: Like that, don’t you, boy-o? I can give and take, you know. Give … and take.

  Finn was working himself and the Changed up to something, like predators ascending the food chain. First, Changed out for “training.” Now, larger teams, like today. Peter sensed there was one more prize Finn wanted, one more test to run, and then they would head for Rule.

  “How many times do I have to say it?” Peter managed through clenched teeth. “I don’t know who she is. Why is it so important?”

  “Oh, boy-o. You disappoint me.” Sighing, Finn used the parang to push stew-sized chunks onto an aluminum camp plate. The tent was warm, the air rich with copper musk. “All right, let’s take a break. Phew-wee.” Finn flicked mock sweat from his broad brow. “I’ve worked myself into a lather. How about we try something easier, all right?”

  “Whatever.” Peter backhanded real sweat from his forehead. The cuffs around his wrists clinked. A guard had cinched them so tight there was blood where the steel had rubbed his skin raw. He swallowed, but with difficulty. The control collar not only chafed, but the chain looped through the metal D-ring was secured so high on the bars that Peter had no choice but to sit upright. Lucky for him, he hadn’t needed sleep in weeks, or he’d strangle on his own weight.

  Through the wire mesh dividing this stainless-steel transport cage, he saw Penny cringing against Simon. At least they weren’t in restraints, and Finn had gotten his camp doc to wrap Simon’s sprain, so that was something.

  “Tell you what,” Finn said, taking the filled plate and sidling close to Penny and Simon’s half of the cage. “Let’s talk about little Penny … well, not so little Penny.”

  “What do you want to know?” Peter said, his tone flat. Simon’s eyes narrowed at Finn’s approach. Suddenly rapt, however, Penny straightened, nostrils flaring.

  “I’m curious.” Finn moved the plate from side to side, smiling as Penny tracked it like a spectator at a tennis match. “Yes, smells good, doesn’t it, Penny? Want some?” Finn brought the plate to within arm’s reach. “Go ahead, dear. You know you want it. Take it.”