The silence was the hardest part. On the ship, there had been engines. On the island, there had been vines. Even in the bunker, there had been the hum of the heater. Here, on the ice sheet, there was only the wind. It didn't howl. It whispered. It slid over the surface like a blade being sharpened on a stone.
Ezra stopped walking. His boots were frozen stiff. Every step sent a shock of numbness up his shins. He looked back. Mara was ten paces behind him. Her head was down. Her scarf was wrapped tight around her face. Only her eyes were visible. They were red. Raw. Tomas was further back, dragging a sled loaded with the supplies they had scavenged from the Coalition's abandoned equipment.
"We need to stop," Ezra said. His voice sounded flat. The cold ate the sound before it could travel.
