“Yes, ma’am. I have some clean clothes in my pack, too.”

“I’ll close the kitchen door then, to give you some privacy to change. Come on through when you’re ready.”

I stripped off everything and left it in as neat a pile as I could manage on the mudroom floor. I kept an eye on the door while I changed. Mrs. Barslow seemed nice enough, but I was keenly aware that there was also a guy with a shotgun on the far side of that door.

The clothes in my pack weren’t exactly clean, since the dust had seemed to find its way everywhere, but they were a huge improvement over the stiff, ash-caked clothing I’d removed. I attacked my hair and face with the whisk broom, which hurt some but brought a satisfying cloud of ash cascading off my head.

When I stepped into the kitchen, Elroy was sitting at the head of the table with the shotgun across his knees. Behind him I could see into a large living room with a fireplace. Edna was crouched by the fire. The aroma was so lovely, it made me dizzy.

“Edna put a pail of water in the bathroom for you to wash up, boy. It’s behind you.”

“Thank you.” I glanced behind me and saw another door next to the one I’d come through. I sidled through it, keeping a wary eye on Elroy. In the bathroom, a sink held a sponge and galvanized metal pail. I picked up the pail and sniffed the water. It smelled fine, so I drank about half of it straight from the pail and used the rest to wash.

When I returned to the kitchen, Edna was setting a platter of steaks and a Dutch oven loaded with carrots and potatoes on the table. As we sat down, she asked, “Are you going to put that ridiculous gun away, Elroy?”

“Nope.”

She stared at him a moment. “Will you bless this food then?”

“Yep.” They folded their hands and bowed their heads. I noticed Elroy was still looking at me out of the corner of his eye. Suspicious bastard—although I was watching him, too. I imitated Elroy’s pose as he said, “Dear Lord, bless this food to the use of our bodies that we may persevere in this time of trial and emerge stronger and wiser. Amen.”

“Amen,” Edna said, so I threw in one, too.

Edna talked during dinner. Elroy mumbled “yep” and “nope” now and then but otherwise didn’t say much. Me, I just ate. I wasn’t going to ask for seconds, but I sure didn’t turn them down when Edna offered. I didn’t turn down thirds or fourths, either. She offered coffee, but I convinced her I’d prefer water. I ate and drank until I was stuffed and sleepy and on the edge of getting sick.

I shook my head when Edna offered fifths and pushed my plate away. I felt a little woozy, so I laid my head on the table to rest, just for a minute.

I woke to Edna shaking my shoulder. She helped me to my feet and led me to the couch in the living room. It was hot in there, the remnants of the cooking fire glowing in the hearth. I sank into the couch, and Edna draped an afghan over me. I fell back to sleep instantly.

* * *

It was still fully dark when I woke again. Someone was shaking me. Elroy—I could see his face in the light of the candle he carried. I sat up on the couch and stretched.

Elroy spoke in a hushed voice. “Kid, I’m sorry about this.”

I came more fully awake. “Sorry about what?”

“Edna’s convinced we’ve got to keep you here, take care of you—”

“No, I can’t stay—I’ve got to find my folks.”

“That’s a relief, then. Get up and let’s get you on out of here.”

I stood and followed Elroy to the fireplace. A line had been strung in front of it, and all the clothes I’d been wearing yesterday were hanging there. “What—”

“Edna, she stayed up last night and washed your things in the bathtub. They dry enough to pack?”

“Yeah, I think so. Thanks.” I took my clothing off the line and folded it roughly. Then I followed Elroy’s candle to the mudroom.

“I filled your water bottles last night. Here’s a few extras.” He handed me a plastic grocery sack with six twenty-ounce Diet Coke bottles filled with water. I’d eaten enough food over the last two days that the Diet Coke bottles would fit in my pack, though just barely.

“I should say goodbye to Edna.”

“Naw, you do that and there’ll be a weepy scene. You look kind of like one of our sons did when he was younger.”

“Well, thank her for me. Thank you for everything—the meal last night, a place to sleep, the water. I really—”

“Now don’t be getting maudlin. Just get on out of here before Edna wakes up and tries to convince you to stay.”

“How is it that you’ve got water?” I asked as I finished tying my pack shut.

“First thing I did when we lost electric and the ashfall started was rig up a hand pump for the well. That was before my shop collapsed. So long as the hand pump works, Edna and I’ll be fine for water. Food, I don’t know. This goes on a couple months, we’ll have trouble feeding two mouths, let alone three.”

I nodded. “Thanks, Elroy.” I shouldered my pack and tied a rag around my face. Then I stuck out my hand.

The last thing he said to me was, “You take care, now.”

It was still too dark to see outside. I sat down, leaning against a porch pillar, and waited for the sun to come up. It never did, of course. Instead, there was a little brightening on the eastern horizon of the black, monotone sky. I snapped my boots into my skis and left the farm, sliding toward the light.

Chapter 14

About midday I happened across another farmhouse. As I skied up to the yard, a window opened, and I saw the barrel of a rifle poke out. I decided not to push my luck.

I avoided the rest of the farmhouses I saw. That was easy to do; I just stayed on the road.

That afternoon, it started to rain. It was getting colder—way too cold for early September. I stopped and got my poncho out of my pack, which helped some. With the rain, the thunder and lightning increased. The thunder had never completely gone away, just faded to an occasional clap in the background. Now it returned with a vengeance, although after that horrible night in the Jacuzzi back at Joe and Darren’s, even loud thunder sounded puny.

The blessing of the storm was that it got easier to push the skis forward. They slid better on wet ash than dry. The curse was the cold water splashing my jeans and seeping through the hood of my poncho. Even working as hard as I was, I began to shiver. A wet night in the open might get me a bad case of hypothermia, flu, or worse.

About an hour after I’d started looking for shelter, I spotted a car. It was buried to the tops of its wheels, and ash was mounded nearly two feet deep on top of it. It was an odd place for a car, stuck in the center of the road without any buildings in sight. I wondered what had caused this car to be left here—had the driver fled the ashfall and only made it this far before getting stuck? Or had they run out of gas? More important, were the owners of the car still inside?

I brushed ash off the rear passenger-side window and tried to peer in. It was too dark to see anything. I pulled on the handle. The door was unlocked but would only open about two inches due to the ash. I still couldn’t see anything through the door, so I sniffed instead. It smelled okay: the omnipresent sulfur stench and a hint of stale French fries.

It took me a while to dig away enough ash to open the door. As I dug, I thought about the corpse I’d seen in the wrecked car in Cedar Falls. I hoped this car would be empty.

It was. Inside, it was dry, dark, and felt somehow safe. I stripped off my wet clothing and spread it over the front seat, hoping it would dry overnight. It was too cold to sleep in my underwear, so I put on the clothing from my pack. It hadn’t dried completely in front of the fire last night and felt clammy, but it was far better than the stuff I’d removed.