Winter did not arrive; it settled. It began with a frost that silvered the pumpkin vines overnight, turning them to brittle glass. Then came the snow. It fell silently, layer upon layer, burying the fences, the paths, the old roads that once carried cars. New Heartland disappeared under a white blanket. Only the smoke from the chimneys betrayed the life beneath.
Ezra stood at the window of the communal hall. The glass was thick, hand-blown by Jared's brother. It distorted the view slightly, making the outside world look like a painting. The fields were gone. The wheat was stored in the barn. The earth was sleeping.
"It's deep this year," Tomas said. He stood behind Ezra, stirring a pot of stew. The smell of thyme and root vegetables filled the room. "Three feet at the gate."
"The Earth
