Ash and Ember Thornwood's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Two nights ago, Ash and Ember Thornwood watched their uncle put a knife in their father and then their mother. They ran before he saw them. For two days they had moved through the frozen forest, away from their grandmother's house because their uncle would look there first. They were trying to reach the stranger Ember had spotted through the trees yesterday morning — the one other person who had been in the yard that night. If they found that witness before their uncle did, they had a chance. If not, no one would believe twin children over a grown man with the family name. Ash smelled the wolves before Ember pointed. A dark heap sat near a split pine: fresh droppings packed with fur and a curve of bone that had not yet dulled in the cold. The bone was wet. Ember whispered, "Hours. Maybe less." Her hand closed hard around Ash's wrist, the same grip from yesterday. They kept moving and broke from the trees onto a flat white sheet of lake. Cracks ran across it like black thread. Ash put one boot down and heard the ice answer. Halfway across, a long fracture opened ahead with a sound like a snapping rope. Ember stopped. Ash stopped. Behind them, low shapes slid out from a cluster of snow-covered boulders at the shoreline, four of them, then a fifth. The wolves had used the rocks for cover the whole time. "Don't run," Ember said. Her voice was flat. "They go for runners first." Ash's legs wanted to run anyway. Ash made them stop. The twins turned together, slow, and faced the pack across the ice. The lead wolf lowered its head and took one step onto the lake. The ice groaned under it. It stepped back. A voice behind them said, "Walk to me. Heel-toe. Don't look down." A girl stood at the far bank in a white coat, a rifle held low and steady. She was older than them, maybe twenty-five, brown-skinned, calm in a way that did not match the situation. "I'm Arizona. Move." Ash and Ember moved. The ice complained under each step. Arizona did not raise the rifle until they were past her, and then she fired once into the air. The pack broke and ran back into the trees. Arizona lowered the rifle. She looked at the twins like she had been expecting two of something, just not them. "You're the Thornwood kids," she said. It was not a question. "Your uncle came through my pass this morning. He asked if I'd seen children." Ash's mouth went dry. Ember's grip tightened again. "What did you tell him?" Ash asked. Arizona shouldered the rifle and started walking up the slope. "I told him no," she said. "Come on. He's half a day behind, and the man you're looking for lives past the treeline. I'll take you."