Monsters: The Ashes Trilogy

by Ilsa J. Bick

  “Do you want him to be?”

  “God, yes.”

  “Then follow him into his darkness, Chris.” He felt her hands on his back. “But don’t forget to hold your breath.”

  “This is a dream, Jess.” Opening his eyes, he stared down at his watery twin. “You can’t die in your dreams.”

  “This is Peter’s nightmare, and I don’t think you want to test that,” she said, and gave him a push.

  The water was so cold it was fire. Chris sank, the water like chains, drawing him down. Below was the feeble bob of Peter’s light and a sinking, gutted husk of a boat. Most of the aft deck was gone; the pilothouse was a ruin; the hole the fire made gaped like a wound. No choice now. He was committed. His lungs strained, the pressure building inside and out. The water was so oily, he was afraid to look away from Peter and the boat. As he neared, he saw Peter’s light angle up. By some miracle, the deck aft of the engine room was intact. Using a metal ladder as a guide, Peter wormed through a square hatch.

  Chris followed. Inside the wreck, the churning water was even blacker, curling with what looked like smoke. As he broke through into a very slim wedge of air and screams, he realized that what he was looking at—swimming through—was blood.

  “Calm down, you have to calm down!” Peter was shouting. Both girls had their hands hooked around a pipe. Chris had no trouble recognizing Penny; the shrieking girl had Peter’s jaw and eyes. The other girl, who looked much older, was no less frightened. Blood pumped from a large gash in her scalp. “Just follow me, Penny,” Peter said. “We’ll all get out, I promise.”

  “I can’t!” Penny’s lips pulled apart in a terrified grimace. “I can’t hold my breath that long! I’ll drown, I’ll die!”

  “Penny.” Peter was trying to pry his sister’s hands free. “Let go—”

  “I can’t!” Thrashing, Penny lost it. “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to—”

  “Help me.” The other girl was pale as marble, her blood almost black in Peter’s light. Water slopped over her chin. “I don’t know how to swim, I can’t—”

  “We can’t take them both at the same time.” Peter’s eyes shone with panic and tears. “It’ll take two of us to handle Penny, and we can’t—”

  “N-no.” One hand slipped, and the girl flailed. The air pocket had squeezed to a slim six inches. “No, don’t leave me alone, d-don’t—”

  “Hang on.” Lunging, Chris slapped her hands back onto the pipe. The air pocket was shrinking very fast, and he was freezing, getting tired out. He was horribly aware that the longer they stayed, the deeper the boat sank. As it was, he’d barely made it. “Can’t you swim at all?”

  “Nuh-no,” the girl moaned. “Nuh …”

  “We have to go.” Peter had managed to loosen one of Penny’s hands, but the other clung so fiercely to the pipe, he couldn’t both hold her and work her free. “Help me.”

  “No,” the girl cried. “Wait!”

  But Chris was already wrapping both hands around Penny’s wrist, pulling with all his might, fighting her terror, and then her hands were free and he was shouting, “Peter! Go now, go now!”

  “Penny!” Peter grabbed the still-screaming girl’s face. “Penny, hold your breath, stop screaming, hold your—”

  “No!” the other girl shrieked. “No, don’t leave me here, don’t—”

  “Come on!” Peter bellowed, and then they were under the water, kicking out of the engine room, the three of them stroking their way through the hatch. Penny was still thrashing; Peter had one arm and Chris the other. Peter’s light stabbed up, but Chris was no longer sure if that truly was the way. He could hear Penny: the boil of her breath and a thin mmm-mmm-mmm!

  Stop screaming, stop screaming! Slapping his hand over her nose and mouth, Chris kicked hard. Too far above, the faint glimmer of a distant sky spread itself over the water, but his air was nearly gone; his lungs was blazing. I was wrong. I’m going to die down here in the dark; I’m going to drown in Peter’s nightmare …

  “No,” Peter said—and because this was a dream, they were, suddenly, in the bobbing raft again, side by side. No Penny. No Jess. No wrecked boat, of course; that was lost to the dark, and the girl with it. “You can’t stay here, Chris.” Peter stared out over endless inky water. “I won’t let you.”

  “A-are you d-dead?” He was shuddering so hard, his mouth balked.

  “Partly.”

  “Wh-what does th-that mean?”

  “I’m not sure myself.” Face still averted, Peter shook his head. “I think part of me died right here. You really should go, Chris. I don’t know how long it’s safe for you to stay.”

  “I’m n-not leaving you, Peter. Let me h-help you.”

  “I don’t think you can.” And then Peter turned. His eyes were no longer blue but as red as that drowned girl’s blood might’ve been in light. “Still love me, Chris?” Peter said. Then: “Easy. Watch out you don’t shoot—”

  “Hunh!” Chris started awake, his hand stretching for his rifle even before he was fully upright.

  “Whoa, watch it!” Ellie jumped, and as her armload of wood clattered to the ground, Jayden bolted to a sit, simultaneously trying to struggle out of a sleeping bag and free his gun hand.

  “What?” Jayden said, wildly. “What?”

  “Nothing,” he said, feeling the sudden tension drain. When they made the decision to stop a few hours ago, the eastern horizon had been only a silver smudge. Now bright sun stabbed through trees. He scrubbed his face with his hands. “Sorry. I was having a bad dream and—”

  “You have a lot of bad dreams,” Ellie said, curtly. She gave the dog a hip-butt and began picking up scattered branches and twigs. “I thought we could have tea before we leave.”

  “Here.” Chris made a move to get up. “Let me help.”

  “I can do it.” Ellie snatched a branch out of reach. “I’m fine.”

  “Okay. Sure.” When Ellie didn’t reply, he looked over at Jayden. “Sorry about that.”

  “She’s right. You do have a lot of bad dreams.” Yawning, Jayden kicked out of his bag, stood, then grabbed his back. “Man, I knew there was a reason God invented the bed … Nope, sorry.” He held up a hand. “I didn’t say that. Don’t tell me you didn’t ask me to come—”

  “Well, I didn’t,” Chris said.

  “Because I’ll tell you where to shove it,” Jayden said.

  “Where the sun doesn’t shine,” Ellie said, still not smiling, although Mina grinned.

  “Right.” Turning, Jayden stumbled off into the woods. “Be back.”

  Chris watched as Ellie first broke large twigs into smaller kindling and then pulled out her knife and began carefully fuzzing bark. “You’re good at that.”

  “Alex taught me,” Ellie said, eyes fixed to her task. Ever since they’d left, the little girl spoke to him only when necessary. He hadn’t pressed. He was stunned enough she and Jayden had insisted on coming, although Jayden’s rationale he half-understood and even agreed with: It’s not just you. I knew Lena before you did, and I don’t know if I can stay with Hannah now, anyway. Ellie, on the other hand, had simply refused to budge: It’s my choice. No other explanation. At that, Hannah had been ready to spit nails. But what could she—or Chris—say? “How many more days until Rule?” Ellie asked.

  “If we keep pushing? Two. No more than three, especially if the weather holds.”

  “Are you going to kill her?”

  He knew who she meant. “If we see her. That was the idea behind leaving.”

  “I don’t know if you should. Shoot Lena, I mean. She still feels … different.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I was really close, twice, and got a good look at her face. You know how the people-eaters get that hungry stare? Like they’re totally starving and you’re a hot dog? She wasn’t all the way like that. Her eyes also seemed …” He watched her think of the right word. “Sorry. Like my dad when he went back to Iraq? It was his job. He
had no choice. I think Lena’s the same way. She’s stuck.”

  “If she can’t help herself, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like she’s sick and we can wait for her to snap out of it. We don’t know if that will ever happen. It wouldn’t be right to let her go and keep hurting … killing other people.” Or being miserable either, although that was wishful thinking. The Lena he’d seen was wild, and she never came in his dreams as anything else.

  But what is Peter?

  “What if she can?” Ellie said. “Stop herself?”

  “That’s an experiment we can’t run, Ellie.”

  “Okay.” The little girl’s face closed. Reaching into a parka pocket, Ellie pulled out a small plastic container and unscrewed the cap. The contents, gooey and thick, reeked of turpentine.

  This was the most she’d spoken to him in days. Hoping to get her going again, Chris asked, “Did Alex teach you that, too?”

  “Yeah. I found a good tree not too far away.” She used a stick to scoop out a nickel-sized dollop of pine resin. “Don’t try to make nice. I’m not talking to you.”

  “Okay.” Standing, he worked cramps from his legs. “How long did you sleep?”

  “Enough.” She scraped a flint over a tangle of cedar fuzz and pine needles. A shower of sparks jumped. Cupping the tinder, Ellie blew until a yellow flower blossomed, then slid the bundle beneath loosely laid twigs. “Is Peter, like, a best friend or something?”

  “Yes.” There was something hypnotic about watching a fire spread. “Best friend I ever had.”

  “You know him a long time?”

  “No, but it feels like it.”

  “Are you worried that he’s dead?”

  It was a strange question. “How come you’re asking?”

  Still not looking at him, she moved a single shoulder. “Because I don’t think you’re sure. You asked him just now, in your sleep.”

  “It was a dream.”

  “Maybe. But when you were sick? I sat with you sometimes. You talked to Peter a lot, but you were more scared of him then. Now, you’re …” She paused. “Sad.”

  “Oh.” All of a sudden, his eyes itched. “I guess I am.”

  “Are you still mad at him?” Before he could answer, she turned her brimming eyes to his. “Because the last time my daddy went to Iraq? I was mad, and he came home in a box. I was pissed at Grandpa Jack, and then he died. The last morning I saw Tom and Alex, I’d gotten mad at them, too, the night before. We made up, but …” A tear dribbled down one cheek.

  “You didn’t make any of that happen,” he said, part of him wishing that if evil thoughts could kill, his father would’ve keeled over five years before the Night of the Hammer. On the other hand, he couldn’t have wished that hard, because he’d also lied for the bastard when the chips were down. “Were you angry at Eli?” When she shook her head, he said, “See?”

  “But I’m afraid.” Her lower lip shuddered. “I’m still mad at you. I understand why … but don’t lie to me again, Chris. It hurts too much, and I don’t want you to die, too.”

  The right thing to do would be to give her a hug, or touch her. But he didn’t want to make a mistake. “I’m not going to die,” he said, though he probably shouldn’t make promises he mightn’t keep. “I only want to try and do what’s right. I’m not into this to get myself killed.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Jayden said, stomping from the woods. He looked as Ellie stifled a watery laugh. “What? What’d I say?” But his mouth was turned in a grin. “Oohhh,” he said, reeling the little girl in for a knuckle rub. “You thought I meant that.”

  “Nooo,” Ellie squealed, cracking up all over again.

  “It is, however, an excellent question.” Jayden gave Ellie’s head a final tousle. “Lena or no Lena, what is the game plan once we get to Rule? People there you can trust?”

  “A few.” Crouching over a sparse patch of unbroken snow, he made an X. “If Rule’s at the center of a clock, we’re coming in from up here.” He poked a finger at ten o’clock. “We have two choices: either loop clockwise to the hospice here”—he traced an arc to two o’clock—“or keep on this route and drop down to the southwest corner here.” An X at seven o’clock.

  “Which is faster?” Ellie asked.

  “Six of one, half dozen of the other. We can trust Kincaid, the doctor, I think, and some girls I know who lived with Alex: Sarah and Tori. Greg and Pru, from my squad, are good guys, but they’re all the way on the other side of town.” He pointed to four o’clock. “The only catch is Jess’s house, where Alex was? It’s not that far from the Zone.”

  “Where the people-eaters are.” When Chris nodded, Ellie continued, “Can’t we go straight down and still end up where Alex lived?”

  “Well, there are more houses and people, but … yeah, if we’re careful.”

  “Sounds like those girls are the first stop then.” Jayden went to his horse, pulled open a saddlebag, and withdrew a camp pot and three enameled mugs as well as a Ziploc of tea and another of fish jerky. “What then?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been gone two months,” Chris said, as Jayden carefully scooped handfuls of untrammeled snow into the pot. “It’s the middle of March now. A lot could’ve happened.” Given his many dreams, he was willing to bet on it.

  “Okay.” Nesting the pot over flames, Jayden doled out cups. “So, we go to Sarah and Tori and … what? You make like Moses—let my people go—or are we just going to bust everyone out?”

  “I honestly haven’t thought that far. Guess it depends on if I end up in the prison house.”

  “We won’t let that happen,” Ellie said, promptly.

  Jayden only filled a tea ball with loose leaves. “How likely is that?”

  “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a real strong possibility. What I’m hoping is that the Council will listen. I can’t believe that they’ll just shoot me,” he lied.

  “They won’t,” Ellie said, fishing out a piece of jerky.

  “Oh?” Jayden raised both eyebrows. “And you know this because—”

  “Because,” she said, gnawing jerky that was the color of an old loafer, “they’d have to shoot through me first.”

  He and Jayden looked at each other, and then Chris said, “Come again?”

  “I saved your life, Chris. So … I’m responsible for you from now on.”

  “I think it goes the other way around,” Jayden said. “He owes you.”

  “Yeah, but then he saved me from the lake.”

  “So we’re even,” Chris said. “I’m not letting you do anything dumb, Ellie.”

  “Too late. I’m here,” she said. “Seriously, guys, you think they’ll shoot a cute kid and her little dog, Toto, too?”

  “I—” Chris started, then shut his mouth. He and Jayden traded another long look, and then they both began to laugh.

  “See?” Ellie said, looking very pleased. She offered Chris the bag. “Jerky?”

  98

  Between Jed’s maps and a thumbnail of the village’s layout, Zone, patrols, and approach routes Weller once drew, Tom would’ve found what he was looking for easily enough. As with the lake, however, the crows pointed the way, sketching lazy pinwheels above the woods southwest of Rule. Now that they were into March and the daytime temps were inching past freezing most days, the faintly gassy smell helped, too. So did his horse, who finally balked a half mile shy and refused to budge. That was all right. On foot, he had a better chance of slipping in unnoticed. So he offloaded his gear, then unharnessed and gave the horse a healthy slap to send it on its way.

  If you didn’t know better, Tom thought you could almost imagine that you’d dropped into some horror story where the village appeases the local gods by sending out the occasional sacrifice. He knew better. Rule’s story was written in the haphazard scatter of browning bones, scored by teeth and knives; the remnants of clothes and discarded backpacks; a hoary scraggle of wig so picked over there was nothing left but ripped lace and a few strands of too-r
ed hair.

  What almost troubled him more, however, was a wrecked pyramid of decaying human heads that lay at the end of a kind of processional way. This was marked by the skeletonized remains of animals heaped on thinning snow beneath gently swaying rib cages still dangling from paraline. From the shapes of the skulls and teeth, he thought these had been wolves. The whole setup was ritualistic, with a weird Blair Witch vibe. He wondered if this spot had been claimed by the Wolf Tribe, those Chuckies Cindi saw with Alex. If true, then Tom was now standing close to or in the same spot Alex once had. He didn’t know if that was an omen, good or bad.

  Either way, no Chuckies have been here for a while. Tom studied the crows hopscotching over that jumble of human skulls and disarticulated lower jaws. Only the barest remnants of leathery skin and desiccated muscle dangled from bone. Something had happened at that pyramid, too. The skulls hadn’t simply fallen to the snow but been knocked off, some by several feet. One lay far to the right. From its position, he could almost imagine that someone had tried lobbing the skull like a stone. Nearby were two shredded, bloodstained bits of cloth: part of a parka and a flannel shirt. Torn off in a fight, maybe, but the edges weren’t as frayed as he would’ve expected from a rip. Probably one honking sharp knife.

  But where was the flood of Chuckies that was supposed to have born down on Rule? In the last four days, Tom had seen only a few and at a distance—and twice during the midafternoon, which was also very bad news.

  Tom held his breath and listened. So still. This close, he ought to hear something: the thock of an ax, the distant clatter of wagons or horses. Perhaps, even the occasional voice. In the dead silence of the Hindu Kush, he’d once patrolled a mountainside and caught snatches of evening prayers ten thousand feet above a Pashtun village he never saw. But here? Nothing.

  Where is everyone? He was certain he wasn’t too late. With all those men and their wagons, the horses—and now, the kids—he had to have beaten Mellie and that old commander in black. Probably by no more than half a day, but even a few hours was better than nothing.