Read Online Ashen Winter (Ashfall) by Mike Mullin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mike Mullin
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his right hand to his side.
“What else do you know?”
“Nothing. That’s it. I swear.”
I shook my head. Two hundred more kale seeds gone. And for what?
Chapter 11
When Darla woke, we packed Bikezilla, said goodbye to Dr. McCarthy, and headed for my uncle’s farm. We’d only been gone two days, but even so, the farm looked different. Rebecca and Uncle Paul were out front nailing boards over a window. Most of the ground-floor windows were already boarded over.
As we made the turn into the driveway, Max came out the front door, leading a string of four goats by a rope. I grinned and waved, thrilled to see him up and about. He waved back before continuing to the barn.
“Didn’t expect to see you back so soon,” Uncle Paul called as we pulled up.
“Didn’t expect to be back,” Darla said.
“Had to do a U-turn at Stockton,” I said as I hugged him.
“Come into the kitchen,” Uncle Paul said. “We’ve got fresh cornbread.”
We sat around the kitchen table for a while catching up. Darla went out to Bikezilla and got our maps. She put the Iowa and Illinois maps on the table next to each other, and I traced a line from Warren to Maquoketa with my finger.
“So the biggest trick will be crossing the Mississippi River?” I said. “Looks like there are bridges in Dubuque or Savanna.”
“It won’t be a big deal,” Darla said. “That river that flows through the park behind the farm is frozen solid. We can ride Bikezilla across the Mississippi anywhere.”
Uncle Paul was shaking his head. “No way. That’s Apple River. It freezes almost every year, but the Mississippi never freezes over in Iowa.”
“It’s never been below freezing for nine straight months either,” Darla retorted.
“We could cross at the lock near Bellevue, like last year. It wasn’t too hard to climb down onto the barge stuck in the lock and back up the other side.” It hadn’t been fun—I don’t like heights—but I figured I could do it again.
“I’m telling you, it’s not an issue. Look at these lakes.” Darla pointed at a spot on the Mississippi just north of my finger. “I’ll bet there’s a bunch of boat ramps there—we can ride right down onto the lakes and across the river, which will be frozen over—and into Iowa.”
“Falling through the ice on a river is no joke.” Uncle Paul sounded concerned. “You can get swept downstream under the ice—”
“The Mississippi is frozen so solid you could drive a semi on it.” Darla said mildly. “I’d bet my farm on it.”
“We’re not talking about betting farms—we’re talking about betting your life—and Alex’s. This isn’t—”
“My farm was my life,” Darla said.
“Guys, take it easy,” I said. “We can go to the lock to cross.”
“That’s where you found the barge full of wheat last year?” Uncle Paul asked. “Stuck in the lock?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“We could sure use some wheat,” Uncle Paul said. “We’ve got to get some greenhouses going with something other than kale. A northern strain of wheat could work.”
“I thought you couldn’t plant just any old seeds,” I said. “Didn’t you tell me that’s why we can’t plant any of the corn we’ve been digging out of the ash and snow?”
“Corn hybridizes easily,” Darla said. “Everything I planted at my farm was a sterile hybrid, kind of like mules are. Wheat’s self-pollinating, so it’s really hard to hybridize. Well, you can but—”
“Um,” I had to interrupt Darla before she really got going. She’d babble on and on about hybro-pollinizing stuff until I got even more confused. “So what’s all that mean?”
“Corn won’t grow from seeds we dig up here. But if we get wheat kernels off that barge, they’ll probably sprout.”
“Yep,” Uncle Paul said. “I was hoping you could stop at the barge and pick up some wheat. It could make a big difference—we’re going to run out of stored corn, and we need some kind of grain.”
“That
“What else do you know?”
“Nothing. That’s it. I swear.”
I shook my head. Two hundred more kale seeds gone. And for what?
Chapter 11
When Darla woke, we packed Bikezilla, said goodbye to Dr. McCarthy, and headed for my uncle’s farm. We’d only been gone two days, but even so, the farm looked different. Rebecca and Uncle Paul were out front nailing boards over a window. Most of the ground-floor windows were already boarded over.
As we made the turn into the driveway, Max came out the front door, leading a string of four goats by a rope. I grinned and waved, thrilled to see him up and about. He waved back before continuing to the barn.
“Didn’t expect to see you back so soon,” Uncle Paul called as we pulled up.
“Didn’t expect to be back,” Darla said.
“Had to do a U-turn at Stockton,” I said as I hugged him.
“Come into the kitchen,” Uncle Paul said. “We’ve got fresh cornbread.”
We sat around the kitchen table for a while catching up. Darla went out to Bikezilla and got our maps. She put the Iowa and Illinois maps on the table next to each other, and I traced a line from Warren to Maquoketa with my finger.
“So the biggest trick will be crossing the Mississippi River?” I said. “Looks like there are bridges in Dubuque or Savanna.”
“It won’t be a big deal,” Darla said. “That river that flows through the park behind the farm is frozen solid. We can ride Bikezilla across the Mississippi anywhere.”
Uncle Paul was shaking his head. “No way. That’s Apple River. It freezes almost every year, but the Mississippi never freezes over in Iowa.”
“It’s never been below freezing for nine straight months either,” Darla retorted.
“We could cross at the lock near Bellevue, like last year. It wasn’t too hard to climb down onto the barge stuck in the lock and back up the other side.” It hadn’t been fun—I don’t like heights—but I figured I could do it again.
“I’m telling you, it’s not an issue. Look at these lakes.” Darla pointed at a spot on the Mississippi just north of my finger. “I’ll bet there’s a bunch of boat ramps there—we can ride right down onto the lakes and across the river, which will be frozen over—and into Iowa.”
“Falling through the ice on a river is no joke.” Uncle Paul sounded concerned. “You can get swept downstream under the ice—”
“The Mississippi is frozen so solid you could drive a semi on it.” Darla said mildly. “I’d bet my farm on it.”
“We’re not talking about betting farms—we’re talking about betting your life—and Alex’s. This isn’t—”
“My farm was my life,” Darla said.
“Guys, take it easy,” I said. “We can go to the lock to cross.”
“That’s where you found the barge full of wheat last year?” Uncle Paul asked. “Stuck in the lock?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“We could sure use some wheat,” Uncle Paul said. “We’ve got to get some greenhouses going with something other than kale. A northern strain of wheat could work.”
“I thought you couldn’t plant just any old seeds,” I said. “Didn’t you tell me that’s why we can’t plant any of the corn we’ve been digging out of the ash and snow?”
“Corn hybridizes easily,” Darla said. “Everything I planted at my farm was a sterile hybrid, kind of like mules are. Wheat’s self-pollinating, so it’s really hard to hybridize. Well, you can but—”
“Um,” I had to interrupt Darla before she really got going. She’d babble on and on about hybro-pollinizing stuff until I got even more confused. “So what’s all that mean?”
“Corn won’t grow from seeds we dig up here. But if we get wheat kernels off that barge, they’ll probably sprout.”
“Yep,” Uncle Paul said. “I was hoping you could stop at the barge and pick up some wheat. It could make a big difference—we’re going to run out of stored corn, and we need some kind of grain.”
“That
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