Jo Treggiari - Ashes, Ashes

She slept fitfully, with her knees tucked in and her sore arms folded across her head. The blanket was scratchy and thin and smelled of detergent. She drifted in and out of sleep. The air conditioner was loud. The rattle of the generator, thrumming far below her as it surged and quieted again, kept her on the edge of wakefulness. And the electric light, weak though it was, shone down on her. She’d looked for a switch but the walls were bare. She worried about Aidan. What had they done with him? Was he still next door? She scratched at the wall with her fingernail, tapped out a sequence, wishing she knew Morse code or something. Aidan probably knew secret codes, like he knew about trail markers and how to make bows, but it was no good, anyway. Either he couldn’t hear her or he wasn’t there. She pressed her ear against the wall and slipped into unconsciousness again.

The fumbling noise at the door woke her. She dragged herself upright and then to her feet. Her right hand was behind her back, holding the knife ready. It was still dark outside. She moved forward and to the side of the door, where shadows offered some concealment. It opened outward, and she planned to rush whoever was coming through it, kicking and screaming, punching and stabbing, if that’s what it took. The idea crossed her mind that it might be a Sweeper with a Taser. The thought of that bolt of electricity made her shudder with fear. She tightened her grip on her knife. Her eyes were glued to the door handle. She heard the click as the lock disengaged, the handle turned, and the door swung open slowly. Lucy balanced with her weight forward on her toes, ready to spring.

Someone stepped into the room. Her eyes registered black clothing and then she was on him, her weight knocking the person to the floor in the office beyond. They were in darkness except for a desk lamp. She brought her knife up, ready to plunge it down.

“Tell me what’s going on,” she said, “or I’ll kill you.”

The figure beneath her struggled. She pushed her weight down. Her left arm was pressed against what she thought was his neck. The clothes were voluminous, black, his face covered by a hood, and now, as she leaned in closer with the knife, she saw a weird smoothness, an emptiness where the face should be. His legs drummed against the floor. A strangled sputter erupted from his mouth. Never moving the knife, she relaxed her arm somewhat.

“Lucy,” he gasped. “You’re choking me.”

“What?” she said, recognizing Sammy’s voice. She rolled off of him, then held out her hand to help him up. “What are you doing prancing around in the dark?”

He pushed his black mask down so it hung around his neck. His red eyes blinked away tears. His hand massaged his throat.

She was so glad to see him, she threw her arms around him and gave him a big hug.

“I wasn’t prancing,” Sammy said over her shoulder. “Del and I came to rescue you.”

Lucy jerked away. She felt the dull thud of anger again.

“Del!” she said. “Rescue us? She’s the reason we’re here. She led us into a trap.”

He shook his head. “Me and Henry tried to follow you guys. It was pretty hard going until I spotted some of Aidan’s trail markers. We met up with her by the Needle. She had Lottie and Patrick with her. Henry took them back to the camp, and we continued on. Del insisted on coming back even though she’s so exhausted she can hardly walk.”

Lucy closed her ears to the note of sympathy in his voice.

“Where is she now? How do you know she isn’t raising the alarm?”

“I know her,” he said. Oddly, it was the exact opposite of what Aidan had said on the stairs when they realized Del had tricked them.

“If she gets in my way, I’ll hurt her,” Lucy promised. “You bring weapons?”

He showed her a small knife and a hammer. He grinned. The knife had a curved blade and looked wickedly sharp.

“Nice tiny sickle,” she said sarcastically. “You plan the whole look with the robes and the mask and everything?”

He pulled the mask up over his head and stowed it in a hidden pocket under his robes.

“Just working the plague victim–grim reaper angle. In case I run into anyone. You’d be amazed the effect a simple black cloak can have.” A broad smile spread across his charred face. “It’s a billhook, though. Sickles are those long cut-your-head-off tools. Wish I had one of those.”

“All kidding aside. Are you prepared to use it?” she asked.

He looked serious. She saw his throat work and wondered if his mouth was as dry as her own.

“I guess so. You?”

“I will if I have to,” she said, realizing it was true.

She slipped her knife into her pocket, then closed and locked the door to the sleeping chamber. The door out to the hallway was shut. Everything was quiet. Gray light leaked through the thick curtains.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” she asked.

“About eleven thirty, midnight,” he said.

“Of the day after we left?”

He nodded. “What’s up with you? You seem kind of out of it.”

No wonder she still felt groggy. She tried to do the math. The sleeping pills had put her out for about sixteen hours. “I’ll be okay,” she said. “I’m still lively enough to take you down.”

“You jumped me from behind,” he said, with a hurt expression.

“I don’t think anyone’s going to be playing fair here, so be prepared for some dirty fighting.” She looked around the room. “See anyone on your way up?” she asked.

He shook his head. “All clear. The dogs were barking up a storm. Maybe they smelled me.”

“They’re locked up somewhere though, right?”

“Basement, I think. Del said something about kennels.”

Lucy hurried over to the desk. Her backpack was still under the chair. She slipped the straps over her shoulders and looked around for her frog spear. It was nowhere to be seen. She remembered how Del had knocked it out of her hands and she knotted her fists.

Her medical folder was still centered carefully on the desktop. Behind it stood the refrigerated cabinet. Lucy stared at the papers—so much information gathered about her without her knowledge. It was weird. And there were probably at least eight new vials of her blood stored in the refrigerator. She felt sick. Although she’d told Dr. Lessing how she felt, the woman had still gone ahead with her plan. She had taken away Lucy’s ability to choose. Lucy rubbed her arms, felt the prickle of new scabs.

“Del’s getting the rest of the kids. Do you know where Aidan is?” Sammy asked.

“I’m hoping he’s still next door. There may be someone with him. But give me a minute, will you? It’s important.”

Sammy cast a look around. “Listen,” he said. “I didn’t see anyone on the way up, but this place must have guards, right?”

“There aren’t so many of them anymore. I think a few have bailed. Maybe ten total. They won’t be expecting a rescue mission.” She rested her hand on his arm. “This is seriously important.”

He nodded. “Okay, but be quick. This place gives me the creeps.”

She stood still, willing her brain to work. It wasn’t fair. She wanted to have the choice to decide what to do with her life. But perhaps this was a gift, and it was bigger than she was? She thought of her parents, her sister and brother, of Leo and the terrible pain he had suffered. Maybe if a cure made from her blood had existed they would still be alive. Of course, she argued, if Dr. Lessing hadn’t infected Leo in some mad experiment, he’d never have gotten sick. Figuring out the morality of the doctor’s motivation was impossible. There was some single-minded craziness going on there, she was sure of it.

But Lucy could make a difference.