Mike Mullin - Ashen Winter

“I was about to ask if she was with you,” Rita Mae said.

“She was. . she fell. Got shot, I mean, then fell on the roof of a truck.” I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood. Rita Mae looked away.

“She fell on one of the bandits’ trucks,” Earl said. “If the bullet didn’t kill her, they probably have.”

I turned to glare at Earl, fists balled. He held out his hands in a gesture meant to be placating and said, “I’m sorry to keep offending you, son. But it’s nothing but the unvarnished truth.”

“Much as we’d all like to,” Kenda said, “we can’t spare anyone to go chasing after Darla.”

“But-”

“We’re having a hard enough time keeping everyone safe and fed without risking a rescue mission for a girl who might already be dead.”

“Darla is not dead!” I let my voice get louder than I’d intended. But I was sick and tired of everyone assuming she was dead. They couldn’t know that. They were just guessing. She was alive. She had to be.

Kenda stared at me-the turn of her mouth and droop of her eyes made her look tired. “I’m sorry.”

I swayed, sidestepping to stay on my feet. “Maybe the mayor will have a different opinion. Can’t I at least ask him?”

Kenda’s frown turned to a scowl and her eyes narrowed. “You just did.”

“Oh, you’re. . sorry. I mean, sorry Mrs. Mayor. Um, I mean Madame Mayor? Um-”

“Just Kenda will be fine.”

I jammed my hand into my pocket and ran my fingers over the broken necklace I’d stowed there. “Please help,” I whispered. “I know Darla’s alive. We can save her. Please?”

“I’m sorry,” Kenda said, her own voice low. “We’re barely digging enough corn to fend off starvation. I need everyone we have to defend the town and the corn-digging expeditions. We can’t afford to risk anyone in a rescue attempt.”

My legs felt weak. I fell, my butt thumping onto the hard floor. Something trickled along my cheeks.

“You need anything else from me, Kenda?”

“No, Earl, thank you.”

“I’ll go see about putting another corn-digging expedition on the road, then.” Earl left the office.

Kenda knelt and laid her hand on my arm. “I wish we could help. But it’s impossible. No matter how much you love her. I couldn’t send a rescue mission after my own daughter.”

“I can pay,” I said through my tears. “Seventeen packets of kale seeds-3,400 good seeds. Grows even in cold greenhouses, and it cures scurvy.” I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the pouch holding the seed envelopes.

Kenda looked at Rita Mae. “Would that work? Is kale better than dandelion greens?”

“Let me check.” Rita Mae left the office.

“Dandelion greens?” I said.

“Yes,” Kenda replied. “When the first cases of scurvy hit, we built greenhouses and planted every kind of seed we could lay our hands on. Nothing survived but weeds. So now we cultivate dandelions. They’re the only source of vitamin C we have.”

“I didn’t even know you could eat those.”

“Sure. They don’t taste bad. Bitter sometimes if you don’t pick the leaves young enough.”

“Where do you grow them?”

“Cold frames on the roof of the school.”

“What’s a-”

“A cold frame is sort of a really small greenhouse. We heat ours using power we’re generating with old windmills.”

“And grow dandelions.”

“Yes. But if kale has a higher vitamin C content than dandelion, those seeds could be a huge help.”

Rita Mae walked back into the room, carrying a fat, well-used paperback: The Nutribase Nutrition Facts Desk Reference . She was flipping through it as she walked. “Kale. . kale. . here. Well, break my bindings-80.4 milligrams per cup. That’s, um. .” she flipped through the book, “more than four times as much vitamin C as dandelion greens! Probably tastes better, too.”

“So you’ll do it?” I said, holding out the pouch toward Kenda. “You’ll help me save Darla?”

“I can’t. I wish I could. But we need your kale seeds, so I can give you a place in Worthington, a house if you want it, any supplies you need. I’d do more if I could. But we just can’t risk any of our people.”

“What do I need with a house? Or a place in Worthington?” I hurled the pouch across the room. It thumped against the wall and fell intact to the floor. Not that I cared if it had burst and spread kale seeds everywhere. If the seeds couldn’t buy Darla’s return, then they were worthless to me.

“Are you crazy?” Rita Mae grabbed the bundle of envelopes off the floor.

“We need those seeds,” Kenda said.

“I need help going after Darla.”

“It’s impossible.”

“Then sell me a snowmobile, guns, and supplies.”

“We don’t have any working snowmobiles. And I can’t let you leave.”

“You can’t let me-?”

“What?” Rita Mae said. “We’re not letting most refugees stay, and you’re telling this young man he can’t leave?”

“He’s just a boy!” Kenda said.

“That doesn’t make it right to hold him against his will,” Rita Mae replied.

“He’ll get killed wandering around out there on his own.”

“That’s his choice to make.”

“I’m going after Darla. Unless you throw me in jail, I’m leaving now.”

“We don’t even have a jail,” Rita Mae said. “And you need supplies.”

“And you need my kale seeds. Sell me one of those pickups. And some gas.”

“We’ve only got two that work,” Kenda said. “We can’t spare one. Or any gas. We’re running out.”

“You won’t help me go after Darla, don’t have any snowmobiles, won’t sell me a truck-why shouldn’t I take my kale seeds and leave?”

Kenda started, “Because you’ll get killed out-”

“Because we need them,” Rita Mae interrupted. “And you need supplies. Guns, ammo, food-”

“I can’t just let him wander out-”

“You can’t stop him.” Rita Mae turned to me. “Here’s what you need: a blanket requisition for personal items.”

“I’m not giving him carte blanche to take anything!” Kenda yelled, exasperation plain in her voice.

“It’s a fair deal,” Rita Mae said. “Just what supplies he can carry-plus ten gallons of lamp oil for my library.”

Mayor Kenda shot Rita Mae a look sour enough to spoil milk.

“I’ll need guns,” I said. “A rifle and a pistol, at least.”

“A blanket requisition from the mayor will let you pick out whatever you need from the town’s stores.”

“Fine,” I said, staring down the mayor until she broke the standoff, averting her eyes.

“Fine,” Mayor Kenda said. “A blanket requisition for personal items in return for all your kale seeds.”

“And the lamp oil for the library. In return for a thousand kale seeds. Five packets.” I didn’t need the lamp oil, but I figured insisting on it would piss off Mayor Kenda. And she deserved it for threatening to keep me from leaving. It was the least I could do to repay Rita Mae for her support.

“Five packets? You offered seventeen packets not ten minutes ago.”

“Sure, for mounting a rescue,” I said. “That deal’s still on the table.”

“I can’t.” Kenda pulled at her ear.

“Then you only get five packets.” I took the bundle from Rita Mae, counted out five envelopes, and held them out to Mayor Kenda. “Take it or leave it. Darla doesn’t have time for me to waste arguing.”

Mayor Kenda took the packets. She scrawled something on a scrap of paper from her desk and signed it. When she held the paper toward me, Rita Mae grabbed it.

“My lamp oil,” Rita Mae said. She handed the paper back to Kenda.