Mike Mullin - Ashen Winter

I finally got a few hours of fitful sleep after breakfast. A draft of frozen air woke me, and I peered out from under my bedding, bleary-eyed. My mother was holding the tent flap open and peeking in.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay. I wasn’t sleeping that well, anyway.”

“I just. . I had to look at you. To make sure I didn’t dream up yesterday.”

“I’m too sore to be part of your dream, Mom.” I pushed aside the layers of blankets and reached for my overcoat.

Mom brought me a pail of water so cold that a rim of ice had already formed at its edges. I brushed my teeth with Dad’s toothbrush. Icy spikes of cold stabbed my hands and face as I washed. When I finished, Mom took me to see her school.

Several clear plastic tarps were hung from poles in the center of the camp, forming a rough tent about fifteen feet square. Mom pushed aside the corner of the plastic and gestured for me to enter. Inside, about a dozen students, mostly girls, sat in a circle around the perimeter of the tent. A rangy, gray-haired woman stood in the center, reading from a warped copy of To Kill a Mockingbird .

“Melba,” Mom said, “this is my son, Alex.”

The woman looked up. “Pleased to meet you. Will you be joining our class?”

“I’ve already read that book,” I said.

“If you don’t mind,” Mom said, addressing Melba, “maybe Alex could teach this section? A self-defense seminar? He’s got a black belt in taekwondo.”

“Certainly.” Melba closed and pocketed her book.

“You could have given me a little warning,” I whispered to Mom.

“You’ll do fine.”

I stepped into the center of the makeshift room. “Saved by the sub, huh? There’s nothing more boring than English.” I looked around. Nobody was smiling.

Melba stared daggers at me. “Let’s welcome Mr. Halprin properly,” she said, extending her hand.

I reached to shake her hand, but she clasped my thumb instead and did a little stutter step, moving closer to me and bending my arm. Her other hand grabbed my elbow, her foot hooked mine, and suddenly I was flat on my back staring up at her.

“That,” Melba said, “is what is colloquially referred to as a ‘chicken wing.’ My English classes are not boring , Mr. Halprin. And I also teach a judo seminar.”

A chuckle passed around the room, and I felt my face flush. “Sorry, I should have warned you,” Mom said. Melba held out her hand to help me up, but I rolled instead, coming up in a defensive stance.

“Good throw,” I said. “You know the counter?”

Melba nodded.

“Let’s demonstrate it,” I held out my hand again, and we worked through the counter-move in slow motion. Taekwondo doesn’t emphasize throws the way judo does, so Melba was better at them, but now that I was prepared, I mostly held my own. Soon I was into the rhythm of the class: demonstrating moves with Melba, coaching students, and pairing them off to practice.

I called a short break after about a half hour. “I’ve got to go check on the other classes,” Mom said.

“There are more?”

“Dozens. We do martial arts in here since it’s the biggest space we have. I call it the LGI.”

“LGI?”

“Large Group Instruction,” Mom snorted. “See you at dinner.”

We repeated the ambush that night using Alyssa as bait again. It was mind-numbingly boring; I had to fight to stay alert all night, and absolutely nothing happened.

Ben had spent the night observing the guards. He joined Dad, Alyssa, and me as we were getting ready for breakfast.

“Did you figure out an escape plan?” I asked Ben.

“Yes. But I need more time to observe the guards and confirm it will work flawlessly.”

“I don’t have more time.” My brain was stuck in a loop, thinking that Darla might not have more time, either.

“We’ve been over this,” Dad said. “You might never find her. You might get killed trying. Our family is going to stick together.”

“I know, but-”

“There’s the minor problem of the fence, razor wire, and guards, too,” Alyssa said.

“It’s not a significant problem,” Ben said. “The guard pattern has vulnerabilities, and with a simple weighted canvas sling the razor wire can be defeated. There’s a device purpose-built for precisely that. .”

Ben kept talking. I figured he might never shut up, so I talked over him. “Dad, I’m going to leave. If you want us to stay together, you’re welcome to come along.”

“That’s not going to happen. Your mother and I have a responsibility here. We’re going to do whatever we can to protect these people. Whatever that takes!” Dad was practically yelling at me, talking far louder than needed to be heard over Ben.

“It’s useless, anyway,” Alyssa said. “Walking around all night freezing my ass off. This is never going to work.”

Ben interrupted his own discourse on methods for breaching fences. “It will work. Statistically, it’s not likely to work on any given night, but with enough trial runs, it’s virtually certain to succeed.”

“Whatever, computer boy. I’m going to get a decent night’s sleep tonight for once.” She wheeled around and stomped toward the breakfast line.

Ben’s hands were fluttering at his side. “No. . no, no, no. The Sister Unit must complete Ben’s plan.”

“Jesus, Ben. It’s not always about you!” she yelled over her shoulder. I’d never seen her dis her brother like that before.

Dad was staring, eyes moving from Alyssa to Ben as if he were watching a tennis match.

Ben started screaming in that high-pitched monotone of his. He lashed out, and his fist hit the side of his own head with a thud. I reached for his arm, trying to stop him from hurting himself. When I touched his arm, he punched wildly. I jumped back, and his forearm swished through the air where my head had been. His foot connected with a tent, tearing away one of its ropes from the canvas. People shouted from within, and Ben fell, tripped by his own kick, arms and legs still wildly flailing.

Dad grabbed Ben, trying to hold him down. But Dad had trouble even getting a firm grip-Ben thrashed with the insane violence of a fish just tossed in the bottom of a boat. Plus, he was bigger than Dad.

Ben wasn’t exactly throwing a temper tantrum. It was too violent and uncontrolled for that. When he fell, he didn’t throw out his arms or protect his head. He never looked to see if we were watching-I doubted he was even aware of us by that point. He seemed utterly out of control.

Suddenly Alyssa was back. She threw herself on top of Ben. She was like a cowboy on a bull at a rodeo-it’d be a miracle if she survived eight seconds. “Let go of him!” she screamed. “Don’t touch him! It’ll make it worse.”

That seemed odd-she was lying on top of him. That didn’t count as touching? But I figured she knew her brother better than any of us, so I pulled Dad off Ben.

Alyssa clung to Ben. Her voice dropped to a measured whisper. “It’s okay, Ben. We’ll keep trying your plan. You need to calm down.”

Ben kept thrashing, almost throwing off Alyssa. I was afraid she’d get hurt. When my little sister had thrown temper tantrums, the moment she got what she wanted, the tantrum was over. This was different. Alyssa brushed her glove along Ben’s side, whispering at him in an impossibly calm voice.

Gradually Ben quieted. It took fifteen or twenty minutes more, but eventually Alyssa got off him, he stood up and brushed the snow off his clothing, and we went on as if absolutely nothing had happened.

I turned to my father. “One more night. Then I’m leaving, with or without your help.”