Read Online Ashen Winter (Ashfall) by Mike Mullin - Free Book Online
Authors: Mike Mullin
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a slab of goat cheese for the filling. Ice crystals shattered off the ham as I cut it, and the slice was hard as a board. We had no way to keep it warm. The cheese crumbled. As a finishing touch I peeled an icy kale leaf off the stack and added that to the sandwich.
Ed was staring at the door when I returned to his room. I put the sandwich in his hands.
“That’s . . . for me?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I replied, “Don’t eat too fast. You’ll barf.”
“I know.”
I sat him up, propped against the wall. He took a bite, chewing slowly. He held the sandwich in front of him as he ate, staring at it like a kid with a new iPhone on Christmas morning. Well, like a kid would have stared at an iPhone before the volcano. Now that kid would just toss the useless chunk of metal and glass aside and look for the good stuff: food, clothing, matches, or weapons.
I refilled his water cup.
Ed set the water beside him and said, “So this is corn, lettuce—”
“Kale,” I said.
“Kale, okay. Cheese and a slab of?”
“Ham.” I was quiet for a while as Ed ate. “Why’d your buddy leave you in that house, anyway?”
“I was slowing him down. I think he was going to put me out of my misery, but I got him to leave me there the same way I got you to back off. Pure D bluff. Told him I had one bullet left for the MAC-10. He didn’t want to find out the hard way whether I was telling the truth or not.”
“Took balls—so what did you do before the eruption?”
“Before the eruption?”
“Yeah, like, I went to high school. Cedar Falls High.”
“I . . .” Ed lifted the sandwich, staring at it, not eating it. “Mandy used to love ham sandwiches.”
“Mandy?”
“I haven’t thought about her in months. She was my life—how could I forget?”
“What about—”
“I guess you just go along, don’t you—”
“I don’t—”
“Every day you do what it takes to survive. And every day what you’re willing to do gets a little worse. Until you’re—Jesus, we were shooting kids.”
I tried to break in to ask about the shotgun again, but his voice dropped to a whisper and he kept talking. “Dear God, what have I done? What have I become?”
He buried his face in his hands and started crying huge, racking sobs that traveled in lurching waves down his belly. I was afraid he’d tear his wounds open, he was crying so hard. Tears leaked from between his fingers. I watched him, torn between disgust and an irrational desire to comfort the bandit who had attacked our farm, who would have killed Max and kidnapped Rebecca and Anna if he could have.
It took a while for Ed’s sobbing to subside to sniffles. “I was a bookkeeper,” he said at last. “I ran Peachtree for a machine shop in Ely. What happened to us? What happened to me?”
“What did happen to you?” I must have let some of the scorn I felt color my voice. He pulled his hands from his face and stared at me with an expression of such naked torment that I forgot to ask him again about the shotgun.
“It started with Ralph,” Ed said. “He was our dog. We were starving to death, Mandy and me.”
“I need—”
“Then a couple weeks later Mandy died anyway. Flu bug or maybe just the diarrhea. I should have just lain down to die next to her instead of burying her. A lot of people did, you know? I’d find them all over Ely, frozen together in their beds. The guys I ran with later laughed at them. But they did the right thing—instead of doing something just a little worse every day, all in the name of survival, shaving yourself away until the last sliver of who you were is gone.”
I raised my voice, trying to break in. “Would you let me—”
“I still dream about him. Ralph. He was a good dog.” Ed looked at me, his eyes stripped of color by the low light and his tears. “They say you are what you eat, you know? Sometimes in my dreams I’m Ralph, my tail thumping the floor, just happy to see Ed come home. Sometimes in my dreams
Ed was staring at the door when I returned to his room. I put the sandwich in his hands.
“That’s . . . for me?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I replied, “Don’t eat too fast. You’ll barf.”
“I know.”
I sat him up, propped against the wall. He took a bite, chewing slowly. He held the sandwich in front of him as he ate, staring at it like a kid with a new iPhone on Christmas morning. Well, like a kid would have stared at an iPhone before the volcano. Now that kid would just toss the useless chunk of metal and glass aside and look for the good stuff: food, clothing, matches, or weapons.
I refilled his water cup.
Ed set the water beside him and said, “So this is corn, lettuce—”
“Kale,” I said.
“Kale, okay. Cheese and a slab of?”
“Ham.” I was quiet for a while as Ed ate. “Why’d your buddy leave you in that house, anyway?”
“I was slowing him down. I think he was going to put me out of my misery, but I got him to leave me there the same way I got you to back off. Pure D bluff. Told him I had one bullet left for the MAC-10. He didn’t want to find out the hard way whether I was telling the truth or not.”
“Took balls—so what did you do before the eruption?”
“Before the eruption?”
“Yeah, like, I went to high school. Cedar Falls High.”
“I . . .” Ed lifted the sandwich, staring at it, not eating it. “Mandy used to love ham sandwiches.”
“Mandy?”
“I haven’t thought about her in months. She was my life—how could I forget?”
“What about—”
“I guess you just go along, don’t you—”
“I don’t—”
“Every day you do what it takes to survive. And every day what you’re willing to do gets a little worse. Until you’re—Jesus, we were shooting kids.”
I tried to break in to ask about the shotgun again, but his voice dropped to a whisper and he kept talking. “Dear God, what have I done? What have I become?”
He buried his face in his hands and started crying huge, racking sobs that traveled in lurching waves down his belly. I was afraid he’d tear his wounds open, he was crying so hard. Tears leaked from between his fingers. I watched him, torn between disgust and an irrational desire to comfort the bandit who had attacked our farm, who would have killed Max and kidnapped Rebecca and Anna if he could have.
It took a while for Ed’s sobbing to subside to sniffles. “I was a bookkeeper,” he said at last. “I ran Peachtree for a machine shop in Ely. What happened to us? What happened to me?”
“What did happen to you?” I must have let some of the scorn I felt color my voice. He pulled his hands from his face and stared at me with an expression of such naked torment that I forgot to ask him again about the shotgun.
“It started with Ralph,” Ed said. “He was our dog. We were starving to death, Mandy and me.”
“I need—”
“Then a couple weeks later Mandy died anyway. Flu bug or maybe just the diarrhea. I should have just lain down to die next to her instead of burying her. A lot of people did, you know? I’d find them all over Ely, frozen together in their beds. The guys I ran with later laughed at them. But they did the right thing—instead of doing something just a little worse every day, all in the name of survival, shaving yourself away until the last sliver of who you were is gone.”
I raised my voice, trying to break in. “Would you let me—”
“I still dream about him. Ralph. He was a good dog.” Ed looked at me, his eyes stripped of color by the low light and his tears. “They say you are what you eat, you know? Sometimes in my dreams I’m Ralph, my tail thumping the floor, just happy to see Ed come home. Sometimes in my dreams
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