Human Rights

Fat flakes of snow drifted down to mingle with the dull gray ash that covered the empty city for the last few months. It was one week before the Fourth of July, one week before the shuttles launched for New Earth. The Trials were over. Just a few hours ago, she’d missed the last slot that would have guaranteed her a place on that shuttle by one point during the Trials. Sandra found herself drifting like the snow, bone-numb, and weary. She knew she hadn’t had a prayer with the Track and Field trials, but she’d hoped her ability with spelling and grammar would have saved her. To be fair, it almost had, but Sandra wasn’t feeling particularly fair just then. By all rights, Sandra should’ve been with the others, in the Airport, at that very moment, congratulating the winners. It was childish, she knew, but she just couldn’t face her sister and the other winners right now, and she definitely didn’t want to be comforted, either. She just wanted to be alone; needed time for it all to sink in. So she simply drifted, like the snow and ash, destinationless and trying not to think.
Signs flashed everywhere-sales ads, ads for the latest carbon reduction campaign, the ozone protective wear not to be caught without, the strongest in-home air filters. The signs were hopeful and bright, and still entirely wasteful-a sign of humanity’s refusal to acknowledge the truth to the last.
The truth was, it was too late.
The last word that had come from anyone via radio to the small group of survivors taking refuge in an airport had been weeks ago now, Sandra realized. It hadn’t been good. Humanity had been all but demolished; pockets of survivors like theirs now all that was left. In the south it was plagues and storms, to the east, tsunamis; while in the west, fires and earthquakes had done their work upon the populace.
But here in the north-it was ice. The survivors agreed on one point at least: The ice was worse. Ice was slow. Ice left room for hope-until the crops failed and winter came, and your house was destroyed inch by inch. Then it simply left the work to other beasts. If you didn’t freeze to death you starved by inches, cruelly and without mercy, or you succumbed more quickly to disease.
Sandra thought the ice beautiful. It was crystalline and purposeful; elemental. No judgment-or perhaps it was that the ice itself came as the perfect embodiment of humanity’s judgment. The ice was not at fault. People were-something people tended to forget. But it was loud, Sandra acknowledged. This close to the glacier’s leading edge, there was no escaping the grinding and creaking. It was also colder.
Sandra’s breath fogged in front of her as the streets of Hearthwood carried her onward, until finally Sandra rounded a corner. Abruptly her destination became clear. She was heading home. Much of her family’s home still stood, though it verged on being swallowed by the ice. The little home hadn’t given in yet, despite being given every reason to do so. What little light the sun had remaining to impart to the afternoon faded into the dimmer light of oncoming evening, a light so thin the towering ice barely reflected it. The ice, appearing the same ash gray as the sky and streets, dominated the broken neighborhood as Sandra crossed the bridge over the river which marked the final few blocks to home.
It would be even darker inside and as cold, but Sandra pushed the door away from the splintered frame anyway. She ignored the dark and the cold, pushing through the hallway until she reached the old couch and the tumble of dirty ice that had prompted the family’s move. Unlike many, their home hadn’t succumbed in inches as the ice moved in. Despite evacuation orders, Sandra’s family had waited, stubbornly daring the ice to do its worst as the glacier moved steadily closer and closer, until finally, it did do its worst- a mountain of ice had fallen on the home.
Sandra wasn’t sure why the home hadn’t been entirely destroyed, but whatever the reason, a feeling of safety washed over Sandra.
She was home.
That feeling was all she was looking for. That helped, providing a comfort she never could have found amongst the crowd….so long as she disregarded the risk of further ice fall. The ice itself seemed to catch Sandra’s mood and obliged for once, falling silent. The silence and the cold settled around her, still and heavy, in some way the restorative she needed after the noise and heat of the generators and crowds of people at the Trials. Finally, though, she was shivering despite the heavy coat and hood and she decided it was time to head back, if only to get moving to warm up. It was time to face the question she knew must be on almost everyone’s mind: What are we supposed to do now?
Sandra’s only answer was a resounding creak and crash as the ice gave way again somewhere behind her.
Back in the relative warmth and light of the little airport-turned-refuge, Sandra could only assume that her mother’s incessant worrying over her would eventually stop. Right now she could see no signs of that happening anytime soon, however, as her mother began expressing her displeasure in her daughter’s disappearance the moment she’d seen Sandra push open the curtains to their little square of New Jersey International Airport, Terminal A. Her sister was only making matters worse, taking her mother’s side and escalating things, as always. Her mother was just worried about her, but Sandra could only wonder about Katrina’s motives. They’d not been on the best terms before they’d evacuated and the added stress hadn’t improved matters.
Kat’s motives, however, became clear with her sister’s next words. “Didn’t you want to congratulate me, Sis?”
Sandra nodded to herself-the attention. She was at a loss for words, though, since the truth was that she most assuredly had not wanted to congratulate Katrina when she left, and was growing less and less inclined to do so with each passing moment. Unleashing those words just then would cause more devastation to her sister than she was prepared to just now though. As a safer alternative, she finally replied to her mother. “Mom, I know you’re just worried about me, but see- I’m fine. As I have been for the last ten times I’ve gone out!”
Before her mother could reply, Kat cut back in, with all the certainty of her eighteen years. “If you keep going back home, one day you won’t be, you know.” Kat paused, then continued, her words and pause carefully calculated. “At least we won’t have to worry about the ice going crazy on New Earth.”
“I still can’t believe you called it that. I thought you all were supposed to be the best and brightest…Well, I guess you’ll have all the time you want to think of something better.” Rather than bridling, as Sandra expected, Sandra watched in surprise as a frightened look crossed her sister’s face-and disappeared before Sandra could react. Dissolving then into the anger Sandra had expected, Kat opened her mouth to retort-but before she could give voice to that anger, Sandra’s mother Jean finally put her foot down. “I’m putting a stop to this little jealousy spat right now, Sandra! Don’t pick fights with your sister-and with her leaving us in a week!”
Sandra’s eyebrows arched higher with every word, and she started to reply heatedly, but the torrent continued. “I can’t believe you’re five years older than your sister, Sandra-I swear, you’re acting like you’re five years younger!” The hot word still on the tip of her tongue, Sandra started again to let them fly as the torrent abated. Before she could, however, Sandra froze in horror as her mother’s face crumpled. Sandra watched in shock as her mother sank to the sleeping mat and buried her face in her pillow.
Kat recovered first, snarling, “Now see what you did!”
Almost never had Sandra wished Kat would shut up as she did right then, knowing that there was no way everyone in the airport wasn’t privy to this little family feud at this point. Sandra’s face crimsoned, and she snapped, “This is exactly why I go home-at least there, not everything is my fault!” She whirled, and nearly tore the sheets off the makeshift frame in her haste to get back out the family’s camp.
As much as she wanted to leave the building again, she knew the risks were too great as late as it was, with no light. She was sorely tempted to risk it with a torch anyway. Instead, compromising, she stalked up several flights of stairs to the access on the roof of the airport. This refuge was, by recent unspoken agreement, reserved for those desiring something resembling privacy. Mercifully, she actually had the entire space to herself, so far as she could see.
After a time, the icy air soothed her rattled nerves once again, but once anger faded, she found herself blinking back tears. Fight or not, Kat was still her sister, and the truth of it was, she’d be lost without her. Sandra reflected that she and her sister were night and day-they didn’t even look alike. Sandra took after her mother, ash blonde hair and gray eyes, and since her sister took after their dad, Sandra’d reconciled herself to the fact that she’d never have the height her sister would, though she envied her sister that red hair and blue green eyes. She remembered how that hair had given Kat away, though, when they were children playing hide and seek, and Sandra nearly smiled. Now Sandra almost wished for the anger back. It was better than tears any day, but it was too late. Snow continued to filter down, slowly, melting on Sandra’s cheeks and mingling with the tears there. She let them run down her face, unsure of how long she stood there as the moon rose weakly, visible only as a washed out patch of brighter sky through the obscuring clouds.
The silence shattered in an instant as the night split asunder with a huge crack and a labored groan. The sound filled the air and then cut through it, transcending sound. A resounding, larger than life crash followed hard on its heels, a noise so immense it filled the city and, reaching into its muffled crevices and hurling through the snow filled alleys, merely suffered itself to be suppressed into a boom on reaching human ears. Nothing remained in the city anymore to startle except Sandra-all residents either hiding, dead or fled-who jumped to her feet, staring. To her horror, the sound of something huge billowing and rushing began to build in the distance, and rapidly got closer. Wind and small pellets of ice began to flow around her, eddying and pushing impatiently like water eddying in a river. Solitude was over-it was time to get inside. Sandra reached the door and jerked it open, dashing inside just as the wind screamed in earnest, slamming the door shut for her behind her. Sandra stood, awed, as chunks of ice slammed against the building and the wind dashed itself against the sheet and mortar of the airport as if possessed with a personal desire to reach the residents huddling safely, if fearfully, within. Farther down, icy fists crashed against the reinforced windows. Heart thudding, Sandra realized they somehow still held. Wind rattled the building one final time and then, as if by a switch, the gale died to nothing. Shaken, Sandra stood another moment against the door, then finally turned and locked it. There would be no more going outside for a while, it seemed-the ice was on the move again.
Before they lost communications, the scientists with Sandra’s father had relayed their shock and surprise. The ice they studied now moved swifter, more suddenly, than it had ever been known ice could. It moved fully half a mile in a month rather than in a year or decades. Sometimes it seemed to get stuck on something-and then, when it released, it could jump miles with a crack like the earth itself breaking open. The scientists had theorized, when the unusual speed had been noticed, that it was because the ice formed so fast the weather remained warmer than the weather would normally during an ice age, not having had time for the ice to chill the air around it yet. Consequently, the ice mass was frozen less solidly than they’d ever seen before and it moved with a fluidity more like water. The hemispheric glacier sheet calved even more frequently, and massively, in chunks large enough to throw gale-force winds and boulders of ice for miles.
The sheets began, naturally enough, at the polar ice caps and simply continued in one unbroken field across most of the northern hemisphere. In fact, some of the refugees sheltering with Sandra and her family were former Canadians and Alaskans; Sandra didn’t want to guess what their journey had been like. Thankfully, the ice had been relatively stationary last winter, stuck on something or perhaps just waiting somehow. The refugees were never sure anymore, when it came to the ice. Regardless, it was clear the reprieve was over now.
Sandra, who was beginning to become aware of herself again, realized she was quite chilled. Turning her steps in search of something hot to drink and a warm fire, she realized that after that blast, everyone who knew the signs of the ice moving would be seeking direction. Meetings were held in the food court; logically they would head to the food courts to find their direction. Sandra sighed, certain this meant they’d have to move again soon. She frowned. The thing was that the ice, like any other ice in this at least, normally expanded in the winter. They should’ve been safe for months yet. Her frown deepened, a sudden thought stilling her steps. How far had it moved? Was the house still there?
A sudden push from behind her got her moving again, and she turned to see her sister-who uncharacteristically and abruptly caught her in a hug. “I thought for sure you’d been caught on the roof!”
Sandra felt every one of those five years older in a heartbeat. Caught off guard, she replied awkwardly. “Yeah-I only just made it back inside in time!”
Kat pulled away and turned red, recalling herself as their mother approached, and not saying another word.
Sandra mentally shook her head in momentary amusement at her sister before continuing. “So I’m right then-we’re all heading to the food court for an emergency meeting?”
Both her mother and her sister nodded. “Word just came around, Sandra.” Her mother Jean was grinning. It was Sandra’s turn to crimson as Sandra realized her mother must’ve witnessed the entire exchange between her daughters.
As they moved on, the buzz and hum of a crowd of people began to fill the hallways of Terminal A. Here and there, people began to join them. Jean urged the two faster so they could find a decent spot until they passed into the food court. Spying a free table, Sandra pointed it out and dropped into a chair, and the others followed suit. In short order it seemed as if all 500-some refugees sheltering in the airport had fit themselves into the food court, seeming to fill it despite the expanse. The press of people and the odors and noise of so many people added weight to the air until it began to feel to Sandra as thick as jelly. She was almost surprised to find she could still breathe it.
Finally, one figure stood upon the counters of a Jamba Juice stand and raised his hand for silence. Slowly, quiet spread around the food court, the noise dying away almost imperceptibly at first, but eventually silence reigned. The slight man standing on the counter smiled at the crowd, appearing to attempt reassurance, then began in a strong Minnesotan drawl, “I’m sure you all don’t need me to tell you the ice is moving again. We knew the ice had gotten really close now, last season-if it jumps again, it could be sitting in the parking lot in an eyeblink. So we have to decide, you know, do we move south, with the Shuttles taking off so soon, or do we stay?”
Immediately, shouts rang out, echoing through the terminal and blending into an incomprehensible clamor. Flushing, the soft-spoken man raised his hand again. “One at a time, please!-raise your hands now!”
Hands shot in the air, and someone cried, “Dave! Dave!” in a bid to get the man’s attention. Instead, Dave picked a redheaded girl in the center of the court. “Yes, please ma’am. Go ahead, then.”
The redhead stood. “Frankly, I don’t care about the shuttles, I’m out of here.” She perfunctorily sat again and ignored the renewed uproar her words caused.
One voice carried above the rest, raised in adamant support. Finally, a big man stood up and bellowed, “EVERYONE, SHUT UP!” loudly enough to rattle windows, and then sat down, red-faced when everyone stared. The small girl next to him however was grinning broadly and in fact looked to be on the verge of laughter.
Quickly, Dave stepped into the silence. “Thank you. I believe I said, raise your hands, no? Okay, then, who’s next? ---yes, you in the blue coat.”
Various opinions flew, most in favor of leaving but the more adamant in favor of staying, reminding everyone that the buses were supposed to be coming to get the winners of the trials from the airport. The debate went on for hours, but what finally decided everyone had nothing to do with the shuttles-it was simple logistics. So many people was simply too hard to feed, and the air filters in most public buildings simply weren’t equipped for so many people. It would be better if the group split-those in favor of it staying here but most moving on, heading for the last known location of refugees to the south.
Those in favor of leaving decided eventually to wait a few days, primarily to try to convince everyone to leave, from what Sandra could gather. Personally, Sandra thought leaving a dumb idea-who knew if the other refugee group was even still there? Even if they were, they probably hadn’t any more food than this group did. Only the hazards they would face would change-and Sandra didn’t know plague or fire. This time, she was just as happy with her family’s decision to stay. After all-it didn’t matter what happened to them after the shuttles came, anyway-it was obvious it was just a matter of time before the air was completely bad. Though they were told they didn’t need air filtration masks outdoors yet, the birds were gone, the skies silent; the humans obviously didn’t have long now. With those disturbing thoughts settling in for the night with her, Sandra fell asleep wondering just how long it would be before they all suffocated on their own poison-but she knew at least Kat had a chance, and she clung to that thought like driftwood.
As the hush of night deepened, Sandra started awake, jerked from a dream in which she’d been talking to her father. She had the sense he’d been trying to tell her something important, something about the ice, but just what he’d said had already faded beyond reach. A deep rumble filled the air, and Sandra jumped again.
Her mother, sitting up, noticed Sandra’s start and murmured, “Just the ice again. Go back to sleep.” Slowly, sounds resolved themselves around her again; snores from other camps, then, the brutal bash of the ice against the windows and the wounded-animal scream of the winds-and then, the earth shook beneath them with a bass rumble more felt than heard.
It was over in seconds, but it left them both shaking. “Wow. It must really have jumped this time….” Sandra looked over at Katrina. “How can she sleep through that?”
Her mother laughed softly. “I’ve never been sure how she can sleep through anything-she didn’t get it from me.”
Sandra hesitated. “Mom…Are you sure we shouldn’t go? It’s really moving fast…” After a silence so long Sandra thought her mom didn’t mean to reply, and she was even drifting back to sleep, “No….we have to stay…for her. She has to be on that shuttle…” drifted to her so softly Sandra wasn’t even sure she was meant to hear. “So we’ll just hope that it doesn’t reach this far before she is? Look what happened last time we decided to stay….” Sandra rolled on her side to face her mother. “You know the house is probably entirely buried now.”
“Honey-that house has been gone to me since your father died.”
“I...Mom…have you ever wondered if Dad’s still alive somehow? I mean…we just never heard anything.”
There was another long pause, and the rustle of blankets. Then, “I used to. But now-I don’t know-what if he is? I almost think- if he isn’t, he’s in a better place than we are now.”
There didn’t seem to be anything Sandra could say after that. Listening to the snores and occasional mutters or stirring from the others in the terminal arm, the skylights turned gray before she finally drifted back to dreamless sleep.
The next day was spent taking their turns on the forage crews, but barely anything was left by now. The crews were having to go farther and farther before finding a haul they knew would be worth the effort of bringing back. Those on the forage team in favor of leaving persistently pointed this fact out loudly, though the facts were obvious to everyone already.
Today, the foraging group had a different air. They all knew, leaving or staying, they simply didn’t have to worry about finding as much. Curiously, this did nothing to alleviate the worry or tension whatsoever; Sandra could almost feel the pressure of so many people weighing the decisions they made and turning them over and over. The sensation began to feel like heat on already burned skin, irritating to Sandra. The time, today, instead of being filled with diligent searching was filled with chatter among groups that broke off, idling.
Sandra cautiously watched from the corner of her eyes as some of the conversations grew animated. She scanned the streets for clues to an area they hadn’t been before as a tension clung in the air and grew rapidly thicker. Conversation grew more and more animated. Voices began to carry to where Sandra was, loud enough for her to note that those staying were getting tired of those leaving telling them they were wrong.
Disdain began to replace Sandra’s amusement at the scene; people looked so silly when they’re angry, waving arms and red faces. She shook her head. It was all one and the same unless you were one of the ten percent going off world. Then a shout carried over on the wind, and Sandra watched as one figure’s fist lashed out to catch another squarely on the chin. The figure crumpled to the street, not moving. Sandra couldn’t tell who it had been, if it were someone destined offworld, or even if they were in favor of leaving or staying. There was no way of telling at this distance. Searchers and talkers alike stopped what they were doing and defended themselves, or attacked, and the simmering aggression simply boiled over.
For once, Sandra’s propensity for watching at a distance stood in her favor-until she noticed someone taking a swing at her mother. Dodging brawlers until she reached her mother’s side, she came around behind the aggressor and planted a boot hard into his backside, causing him to stumble. Her mother took the chance to bring her knee up into his nose, breaking it. He was out. Something hard and sharp whistled past her ear, causing her to duck instinctively. Straightening, she took her mother’s hand and began heading back to her earlier sheltered spot. Sandra cast around for the gleam of her sister’s copper hair, and not spotting it, grew frantic. “Where’s Kat?”
Fortunately, Jean quickly alleviated her fears. “I sent her back – she said she had a headache!”
Relieved, Sandra noted incongruously that it was a common complaint-but one that stood them in good stead this time.
A spark of motion from the corner of her eye caught Sandra’s attention. She turned instinctively, but something solid impacted her temple. Her head rang and lightning flashed behind her eyes. Blood streamed down her face. Dropping her mother’s hand, she staggered, her vision swimming and narrowing dangerously, gray eyes filming over. She turned slowly around to face another man. She looked up…and up…He loomed over her. He was huge! His fist lashed out….and connected with a man just off to her right, holding a rock. The rock dropped to the ground with a thud, but before she had time to see anything else she grabbed onto her mother’s hand and quickly began pulling her out of the way again. Had the giant just helped them out? Reaching the spot at last, Sandra slumped against a door, head throbbing, the sounds of chaos and fury surrounding them.
Sandra was gulping for air while her head steadied, but her mind whirled. Was this what humans really were, when all else failed? Beasts? And yet, she wondered, briefly, at the tall man. Had he in fact helped them?
“Maybe we should go join Kat,” her mom said weakly. Sandra just gingerly nodded and pushed herself up again slowly. “Are you up for it?”
Nodding again in reply, Sandra shoved away from the wall – then her mother screamed, and the flash of metal caught the air. Agony stabbed through Sandra’s side, and the blackness that had threatened her before crashed her to the street.
Voices and pain returned with her awareness. Her mother’s voice, worried, but indistinct. Another voice, a man’s deep voice, telling them a doctor was coming. Half-conscious, Sandra stirred, trying to sit up, but something held her down and then her mother’s voice was pleading with her to be still, she’d been hurt, and telling her over and over she’d be okay.
It felt like hours passed, and then a woman’s voice was telling her that the owner of the new voice was a doctor, and that she needed to examine the wound. Sandra weakly nodded her understanding.
She heard the doctor tell her to brace herself; for what she was about to do was going to hurt, then pain screamed up her side and flung Sandra headfirst into blackness once again. She heard nothing more.
When Sandra finally awoke again, the first thing she was aware of was feeling-off-and very thirsty. The instant she made to move, her mother appeared at her side, and to her surprise, her sister moved into view with her. Somehow she managed to convey her thirst, and she was helped to drink before falling into unconsciousness once more.
Jean merely stood and watched her daughter a moment, feeling helpless. Sandra looked so slight, so fragile, and she’d been so hurt…not just by the knife, but by the loss of their house, their life. She gently brushed Sandra’s hair from her face, so much like hers, and wished wholeheartedly she could take some of the pain for her. She knew, though, she would just have to hope she’d given her strength as well. Despite her resolve to keep watch through the night, however, sleep finally claimed her as well.
Sandra awoke fully once more to an abominable ache in her side, and she instinctively moved to rub it. On encountering bandages, the events that had caused that ache flashed through her mind and she decided she’d probably better not rub that. Awareness filtered in that she was in her family’s sheeted-off section of terminal. As her mind worked faster, she could not resist the urge to look down at the bandages. Once she had, she just had to know how bad it was. Elevating herself slightly, she gingerly peeled them back to see a raw, red wound neatly stitched together, about six inches long. Giving a wince, she delicately replaced the bandages. Surprised at the effort it took to just lift herself the little it took to look down at her side, she abandoned the idea of sitting up for now and settled herself back against the mat. The ache in her side grew more intense, pain filling her awareness. Doing her delicate best to settle herself so the pain dominated her senses just a little less, she finally saw the cup of water and the pills beside it. They were actually within easy reaching distance. She gave them an assessing glance through the pain. Two appeared to be painkillers, but she wasn’t sure what the large white one was. She took all three anyway, and she finally slid back into a dreamless sleep.
She woke again to voices-her mother’s, imploring her sister to be quiet. Sandra realized Jean knelt next to her.
Jean smiled ruefully when she saw Sandra’s open eyes. “Hi.” A smile graced her mother’s face.
“Hi, Mom.” Her mother placed the back of her hand on her forehead. “How do you feel?” Sandra smiled ruefully in her turn. “Like I’ve been stabbed in the side.”
Both her mother and her sister chuckled at that, though the humor wasn’t really all that humorous. Sandra attributed it to relief.
Jean smiled reassuringly. “Well, you don’t have a fever; the doctor said you’d be all right-it was just a nasty flesh wound-nothing vital was hurt.”
Sandra relaxed slightly. “Thankfully.” Then, curiosity struck her. “Hey, Mom, what was that white pill?”
“Ah-that was an antibiotic, honey; you’ll be on them awhile as a precaution.”
Sandra nodded at her mother’s calm reply, but then, with that curiosity sated, she just had to know how long she’d been out. “What time is it?”
Sandra’s sister answered. “It’s actually about midnight; you’ve been out most of yesterday and all of today.”
Sandra’s mother nodded, “We’d have been here-we wanted to be here when you woke up- but we had an emergency meeting about the rioting, and most of the group went ahead and left.”
So she’d missed their departure. Huh. She shifted gingerly, and tried again to sit up, but fire arched up her side. Seeing her, her mother helped her and then moved so Sandra could lean against her. “Thanks.”
Her sister, looking somewhat conflicted, finally asked if she was hungry, and suddenly, she was ravenous indeed. “Starving.”
Katrina smiled and headed off; shortly, the sound of a can opener filled the air and Kat returned with a #10 can of peaches and some pita bread. She was frowning, though. “I wish we had more...will this be enough?”
“It’s fine, Sis; peaches sound fantastic. Thank you.” Sandra grinned. “That’s a lot of canned peaches though.”
Kat returned her grin, apparently thankful to have helped in some way.
Sandra reflected that she hadn’t seen so many smiles from Kat in ages. It figured-now that she was about to leave, she was being nice. Tears stung and Sandra realized she’d better steer away from that train of thought. Resolutely shoving the thought aside and accepting a fork, Sandra dug in and made her way through a surprising amount of the peaches and a good portion of the pita bread before the hunger subsided. She wished idly for cottage cheese-that would’ve been a perfect accompaniment.
Sandra’s mother yawned, sparking an answering yawn in Kat, and despite all the sleep she’d had recently, Sandra as well.
“How long ago was it you took the pills, kiddo?” Jean asked.
“I’m not sure, Mom-It was still light, though, so it must’ve been awhile.”
“OK then—Kat, would you please get some more?”
“Sure!” Her sister dashed off and returned quickly.
Sandra blinked in surprise to see her sister being so helpful.
That task accomplished, Kat settled in, and Sandra’s mother murmured before returning to her own pallet, “I’m going to move now, Sandra, so you can lay back down-let’s get some rest.”
Silence fell.
Awakening before the rest of the family, Sandra’s side hurt abominably, but she was unwilling to wake her family after their late night. Irritably, she shifted to a more comfortable position and listened to their soft breathing. It didn’t help much, but it turned out she didn’t have long to wait. Outside their shelter, the hustle and bustle of people up and moving about the terminal increased, voices called and footsteps came and went, until finally Sandra saw Jean sat up.
As Jean rubbed her eyes sleepily, she noticed Sandra awake and grumbled that everyone in the terminal was better than an alarm clock, before realizing their sister was still sleeping. “Oops…oh well, time for her to rise and shine anyway.”
“Are you sure there’re less people now? I swear they make more noise.” Sandra grumbled. Her mother gave her a look, then simply got up and handed her two more painkillers.
When the pain had receded a bit, Sandra gingerly sat up against the wall at the head of her pallet. The day passed slowly, interrupted by the doctor’s visit and meals, but little else. Sandra slept a good deal, but the doctors said she was healing cleanly and it would just take time. With nothing better to do, Sandra fretted, the ice groaned, and the day crawled by. Footsteps came and went, until Sandra ceased to notice them, but towards evening one set came and stopped. A gentle throat clearing, the equivalent of knocking, issued forth. Kat pulled back the curtain, and a tall figure ducked inside.
Sandra’s jaw dropped and she stared. It was him! “You-you hit the guy with the rock behind us, didn’t you?”
His eyes, a hazel-green, found Sandra. “Hello-I came to see how you were. And yes, I did.”
Sandra knew she was being rude, but she couldn’t help it. She had to know. “Why did you help us? Why do you care?”
He frowned, but he didn’t seem offended; merely considering. “To be honest-it was pure instinct. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”
Sandra’s mother stepped forward. “I for one am so thankful for that-and extremely thankful you knew a doctor!” So saying, she shot her daughter a look that should’ve set her on fire.
Abashed, Sandra quickly also professed her gratitude. “Can we offer you anything?” He declined food or drink, but took a proffered seat on a pallet, folding himself carefully. “Well! I’m glad you’re doing all right, Sandra. I’m sorry I didn’t see who stabbed you, but I did see this-and I thought you might like to have it. Here.” He reached into a bag that Sandra, until now, had been too surprised to notice he was carrying. He gently slid out a knife which, in its sheath, was nearly as long as Sandra’s arm. Sandra’s eyes widened in surprise; seeing it, she was surprised to be alive! What had stopped the knife?
Proffering the knife to her hilt first, the gentleman continued, “The sheath isn’t original; I had to scrounge one up from the stores that would fit well enough. It’s not a perfect fit, but it should do.”
Sandra took the knife, thanking him, and extended her hand to introduce herself, then Kat and her mother. The man barely had time to give his name in turn, Evan, before the world dropped out from under them all and quivered like the skin of a horse shaking off a fly. Evan braced himself against a wall; Kat and their mother sat down quickly. They all knew that outside, the ice had moved again, and wind was hurling boulders of ice at the airport. Even this far in the airport, where they couldn’t actually hear the ice hitting the windows, they could hear the echoes of a series of deep hollow thuds. It reminded Sandra of nothing more than a giant’s heart beating, as if the earth itself had a heart.
The world stilled, the stillness seeming all the more profound for the recent ice-caused quake. As Sandra’s heart finally stilled as well, at least enough to resemble a normal pattern, Jean asked, “Is it me, or is it getting worse?”
Evan nodded in evident agreement, and told them he thought the occurrences were getting closer together as well as stronger. It appeared he used to have records.
“You were a scientist?” Sandra ventured, thinking he’d maybe known her dad.
“Well, no,” Evan answered, “but I used to live in Alaska. Before.” No further explanation was necessary. “I kept track when it became clear that we were in trouble-when the bees were declared endangered, and then finally extinct, and then when the air was declared so bad because of the fires that house filters had to be doubled, then tripled-then the reports of plagues, and those earthquakes-the tsunamis-and then…the ice….” He trailed off.
Kat shot him a skeptical look. “What do bees have to do with it?”
Evan thought a moment. “You know how miners used to send a canary down into the caves before they went down, to test the air? It was, in retrospect, the same thing with bees. They were the canaries. They should’ve been our first warning signs, if anyone had been paying attention. Even before the birds. As I said, I kept some records, but I lost them when Vancouver flooded. You wouldn’t have believed some of the records I took, though. Some of them were…strange.”
“Like what?” Kat asked.
“Well,” Evan replied slowly, “I have to say they’re so strange I hardly believe them, myself, except I knew the people I got them from, and I knew them to be honest and steady people.”
Sandra interrupted briefly. “So there were more than one of these records?”
“Well-yes,” Evan replied. “In fact, three or four-most from about as far north as you can get in Alaska, a little town called Barrow. I lived in Valdez, and nearly the whole town of Barrow came down at once, the ice right on their heels, which was bad enough. Thankfully, most of us listened to their tales, and so most of Valdez kept going south too. But it turns out the ice wasn’t the worst of it, not by a long shot. They told of ice-beings, spirits of translucent ice that froze anything they touched, and of men, quite skeletal, said to be made of crystal-clear ice; beings whose very breath created ice…”
At their skeptical looks, he spread his hands. “I told you. It defies belief.”
Kat and Jean evidently agreed, but privately, Sandra wondered-after all, what wasn’t possible, these days? Part of Sandra’s mind continued to wonder, even as Evan excused himself before their small dinner of bread, fruits and cheeses was found and doled out.
Gradually, the light faded, and the smell of the evening fires in pots filled the airport. The chill deepened until their own fire was lit, and Kat and Sandra and their mother settled in for the night, Sandra still deep in thought.
The next day, Sandra was feeling well enough to move around a bit, even to make the trip to restock light stuff from the kitchens and stores, but aware of an increasing sense of time passing. She knew there were three days until her sister left, but it was somehow more than that. It felt more final; like three days until everything was gone.
Shaking herself mentally, she tried to convince herself it was just that odd dream with her father, and then the man-Evan’s-words, but the insistent inward voice wouldn’t be stilled so easily. She even went so far as to ask her mother again if they should leave, after all, and head south. Her mother, however, was still adamant that they had to stay, for Kat’s sake. Much to their surprise Kat broke down at overhearing this, crying that she didn’t want to leave them; she wouldn’t know anyone! That did it; then they were all crying.
Sandra was aware that knowing Kat would survive was the only thing that would keep their mother together. Kat had won, and had a chance! Sandra also realized, though, that to Kat-she hadn’t won anything. She’d been exiled; abandoned, forever. Her sister’s fear, and the loneliness Sandra knew Kat must feel-must yet face-engulfed Sandra. An image of her sister, staring out of one of the portals on the shuttle, her face bleak and hopeless, hand raised in a final farewell they’d never see crashed violently into her. Sandra’s breath left her in a rush, leaving her without enough air even to cry. She knew that image would sear her soul until her dying moment, and realized that for those leaving, that would be a lifetime. In that moment, Sandra knew she didn’t envy them one moment. The trials weren’t a joy, a rescue or a salvation. They were a tragedy, one brought on by no one but themselves.
There were three days left.
The days passed in a blur of preparations and packing and trying to stay too busy to think about the impending departures, and trying to talk Kat into being strong enough to leave. Of course Kat didn’t want to face the fate those left on Earth would have to. She wanted to survive. She also, just as naturally and just as strongly, wanted her family with her. Emotions surfaced in every imaginable way-anger, tears, panic and terror principal among them.
Sandra began to think they’d have to tie Kat up and deliver her to the shuttle, little realizing that she was using her duel exasperation with her sister’s roller-coaster emotions and at at her own painful injury as a shield from her own pain-filled emotions. She healed enough to be allowed to walk further than the stores, slowly and short distances, as tolerated, and then finally-it was time.
The press of anticipation and the pain of those shortly to be separated from their loved ones, the fear and loneliness of those departing, seemed to Sandra nearly visible in the air like a fog with bright streaks of hope that at least some would survive laced through it. She knew somehow it was coming from everyone else, but unfortunately the fog seemed bent on suffocating Sandra. She felt that she could barely breathe; it made her skin crawl, and she wondered that everyone else could seem to be so insensate to it. Time dragged by, each second seemingly interminable, to the previously appointed noon pick up. Sandra finally dragged her family towards a more sheltered corner. Sitting with her back in the corner and knees hugged up to her chest, she grew more and more overwhelmed and more and more nervous and anxious. With so many high emotions around her, nerves and anxiety was all she could feel of her own emotions. She wasn’t looking forward to the time when that buffer finally failed, and the full weight of her own emotional state made itself known. Emotions wound still tighter and tighter as noon ticked closer…and then past. An hour over, then two…three…
People were still talking, focused on delaying the inevitable, convincing themselves the arrivals had just been delayed, but they were tense, alert, and half-listening for something. Finally, someone said it. “They’re not coming.”
Dead silence fell. Sandra’s eyes widened as a new electricity shot through the environment of the room as that one phrase carried to hundreds of ears and passed from mouth to mouth. It felt like a flame approaching gasoline. She gingerly stood, took her family’s hands, and began slowly dragging her sister and mother, intent on watching, back away from the crowd. Then-it exploded, with people yelling and screaming, someone demanding to know who had spoken, take it back, and others wailing and crying.
Suddenly someone cried, “It was him!” Sandra knew that was wrong; the speaker had been a soft-spoken female. It didn’t matter. People started forward, yelling angrily, and the crowd surged.
Yells of “Take it back!” and “Face facts!” carried the speaker’s full force of fear and anger clearly, and it was no surprise to Sandra that fists flew shortly right behind the angry words. People began to push and shove, trying to escape the brawl or join it, and in desperation, began to fight their way out, adding to the brawl.
Suddenly, a huge, resounding bellow broke over the noise of the brawl-“ENOUGH”!!!! Sandra recognized the big guy who’d shouted everyone down at the meeting. The brawl stuttered and died as people paused and stared, hesitating just long enough for the small girl with him to push out in front and shout.
“What the hell is wrong with you all? Have you lost your minds or did you never have any? All of you, stop and think! What, exactly, is fighting going to solve? Come on! We’re no worse off than we were before; in fact, we’re better! We’ve only 150 people here now-but we’re all in this together. Surely, between us all, we can think of a better way!”
Scorn and contempt communicated itself in every fiber of her body. Sandra felt her face growing red with embarrassment and shame, and she wasn’t the only one-faces flushed red with embarrassment and shame rather than anger, and heads hung. It was clear the speaker’s scorn and contempt had spread through the crowd. Yet, in defiance of that shame and in complete ignorance of the thread of cooperation threading underneath the anger, someone Sandra couldn’t see snapped angrily, “Like what, if you have all the answers?”
The girl glared furious daggers in the direction of the speaker, then snapped, “You know what? FINE. Pound each other into the friggin’ ground, if that’s what you want. When you’re done acting like fools, and figure out you’re still stuck here with nowhere to go and nothing else you can beat up-I’ll be in the food court.” With that, she stalked off, the giant man right behind her.
Not one person dared to so much as lift a finger in anger after that. Sandra finally thought to wonder why she was embarrassed and ashamed; she’d been trying to keep her family out of it, after all! This time, she followed her family’s direction toward the food court.
They didn’t have long to wait.
The girl stood where Dave used to, and Sandra wondered at that symbolism; wondered if the girl meant to take over. Once satisfied that most of those who meant to had arrived, she held a hand up, and silence fell. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Dave left with the group a few days ago.” While not loud, her voice was pitched to carry and compelling. “We’re on our own. I’m Dawn, and this is Mike.” She gestured towards the big guy with the big voice. “If you’re here, I’m going to presume you have a measure of common sense. What I want to know is, where we go from here. Now, I’m no leader, but I do know we need a plan or we don’t stand a chance. So. I’m going to start with what we know. Feel free to add to this list, but once I’m done, please; here me out. It’s after 3:00, and there’s no convoy for the winners.” Murmurs started, and she raised a hand once more, compelling silence. “Anything else is speculation, and I’ve always been told that’s a waste of time. Bear with me on that. What this means is, since the group split, our situation hasn’t changed. Things were dire before, and still are; things aren’t going to be improved with time, either.” Ticking points off on her fingers, she continued, “We still need food, which is in short supply around here now. We gotta watch out for air quality, and the ice is still coming. True?” Sandra smiled, liking this Dawn’s direct and no-nonsense mode of speaking.
Nods answered her question. “Ok then. The way I see it is, we have two choices. We can go, or we can stay.”
Someone shouted, “It’s not that simple!”
They only earned themselves a scathing glare from Dawn. “I’ll give you all your chance, but for now, hear me out. It IS that simple; everything else is details and once we know stay or go, we’ll know which details we need to work out. Aye?” Again, nods followed. “Ok then, NOW I’m going to open the floor, such as it is, but do me a favor and stand to be acknowledged if you have something you want to say-and no filibustering.”
With that, she jumped down off the counter, a hand on Mike’s shoulder. Immediately, ten people stood, and one by one gave their arguments-some in favor of staying and some in favor of going.
Finally, Dawn frowned and straightened from the counter she’d been leaning against. “Hm. The speakers have been evenly divided; we could split again.”
Kat leaned over Sandra to whisper, “Let’s leave here! I don’t care if the convoy comes if you guys can’t come too!” Their mother, undecided, gently hushed her so she could listen. Rustling behind her alerted her someone nearby was standing to speak.
“We’re down to 150 people, give or take.” The voice sounded familiar. She turned to see that it was Evan who’d spoken. He looked somewhat the worse for wear; one eye blackened and blood on his coat. “Split or stay together, I say we’ve got to move if we have any hope of finding supplies.” Sandra frowned, side hurting still. She may not be able to keep up if they decided to leave very soon. He sat down.
Dawn was nodding in agreement. “True. Supplies are the big issue. We could manage here a while longer if we were a smaller group; 150 people is still a lot of people to support.”
Distantly, someone said, “What difference does it make? The air isn’t going to wait-we’re all dead once we can’t breathe, anymore, anyway.” Dawn opened her mouth to reply-and the ice gave voice again, with a creak and a groan so near and so loud that it was more felt than heard, vibrating deep in the chest even inside the airport.
Sandra’s eardrums pulsated and her ears popped. It was accompanied by the deep rumbling of the earth that mimicked an earthquake. Then the winds hit them. The windows in the food court flexed and bowed; the reinforcing creaked and popped alarmingly. Ice pounded against the window, frozen fists the size of Sandra’s head and growing larger. A window cracked, splintered, and then shattered inward, sending daggers of airport glass, wood and metal bracing towards the refugees. Wind howled inside, ripping and tearing furiously through the airport, a demon finally granted access.
Sandra screamed and ducked from the projectiles it carried, accompanied by nearly everyone gathering in the food court. Looking around for shelter, her eyes fell on one prone body-Evan’s. He was down on his back, blood already spreading crimson on the white and gray floor. A splinter of plywood as long as Sandra’s arm stood out of his side. He’d helped them, she had to do something! Heedless of her own injured side, she ran over to drop beside him, hands pressed to his side as if to hold the blood in. Something glanced hard off her and hit the floor beside her. Shaking her head to clear her vision of snow and ice, she realized the wood shard had nearly gone completely through him.
Anger mounted. He couldn’t die like that! It wasn’t fair! Fury consumed her; then something snapped. Fury erupted and shot like lightning through her whole body, lancing through her hands and into Evan. Every fiber of her being filled with all the anger she’d kept held back-from her father’s disappearance, her anger at the hopelessness of the situation they were in, fury at the society that had put them in this mess and still thought ruination could fix everything-she burned with fury, was incandescent with it. Evan burned with her. A part of her fury turned to the board in Evan’s side, and it seemed for a moment that the board was the cause of all of it. It incandesced and turned to white-hot motes. With a final pulse, the inferno left her and roared into Evan, who to Sandra’s eyes glowed white-hot, like lightning striking too close. Light flickered; then, darkness claimed her.
She floated in the darkness, pure lightning flashing all around her, but not striking her. Abruptly, an icy cold splashed her awake and she sat up with a gasp. The cold was unbelievable; it struck her like a fist, doubling her over. Wind swirled around them, water beginning to freeze around her. Then her mother was there, helping her out of the water, which had evidently been thrown on her judging by the nearby bucket. Her mother handed another coat towards her while her sister sheltered them as she weakly shrugged out of her wet coat and into the proffered coat.
Finally, Joan spoke. “I’m sorry, Sandra, we couldn’t wake you!” The relief in her mother’s voice was almost painful.
Sandra didn’t recognize the coat, but she was too cold to care. Finding herself pulled into an embrace, teeth chattering, she groaned, then finally stammered, “What happened?”
Her mother replied, “I was hoping you could tell us!”
Events flooded back. “Evan! He was hit…” Sandra trailed off, horrified anew.
Her mother pulled back to give her an odd look, and pointed at something. Sandra followed her finger to realize she was pointing at Evan. At an Evan who was as whole as if nothing had ever happened at all, breathing normally. He was, to all appearances, simply asleep. Not even a scar marked where he’d been struck. Sandra abruptly realized-where the stitches had been before, only a neatly healed scar remained, as if she’d been healing for a month rather than mere days!
Sandra stared blankly. “Gods-how long was I out?”
Her mother gave her another odd look. “About ten minutes.”
Suddenly she knew. “Oh…Gods…I healed him.”
Kat spoke up, not meeting Sandra’s eyes, and speaking hesitantly. “You…were glowing, Sandra.”
She nodded gingerly. “Kat…I remember-I was so angry…”
Her sister stepped away slightly, finally looking at her. “Are…you…angry, now?”
Deeply hurt, Sandra rubbed her eyes, hiding the upwelling of tears at the fear in her sister’s eyes. Fear of her! “No, Kat, I’m just very, very tired. And my head hurts.”
Her mother said suddenly, too brightly, “We’ve been moving everyone to A3. It’s the most intact, now, even though it’s not reinforced. It’ll be warmer there though and for now the more secure…” She trailed off. “But of course you knew that.”
Sandra realized her mother was babbling, and tears welled again. Her family was afraid of her now! Worse-she couldn’t blame them; when she thought of what she’d done, she was terrified herself! What was happening? Confused and terrified, her head pounding, she whirled and ran, unwilling to face the fear in her family’s eyes any longer.
The instant she escaped outside, the cold snapped around her, pressing like an icy fist, crushing her and burning her lungs. She coughed and tucked her hands into her sleeves and wrapped her arms around her face for warmth until her lungs could adjust. The cold took her aback a moment; it was a cold like nothing she’d ever felt before. It snapped and crackled around her, huge hollow booms filling the air. The noise was almost rhythmic, like deep bass. Then the need to get away took over again and she pressed on. Heedless of where she went, tripping in the pitch dark, she nevertheless moved faster and faster as her eyes adjusted, until she was running. Losing everything but the need to run, Sandra never knew how badly she’d underestimated the cold until it was too late. She fell again, and struggled to rise and keep running, and she couldn’t. She kept trying to get up, and trying, and trying, until exhaustion crept over her and it seemed far easier just to lay there and close her eyes.
In the Airport, panic reigned, with Sandra’s mother and sister at the forefront. Dawn tried to calm them, but their need pressed too strongly for her. She turned to Mike, and the next thing she knew she’d agreed to help find Sandra-though from the sounds of things, she’d be better prepared than Sandra had been at least. She grabbed blankets, torches and a firestarter, and added gloves and a scarf and hat to her own. The four of them left the refugees huddled around what scant warmth fires and blankets could provide.
Outside, the stars were the first thing to strike Dawn’s attention-it was moonless, and they dominated the night sky, so sharp and clear they looked like they could cut. She knew time was growing short-no one would survive long, as cold as it was…colder than any January she’d ever known, let alone July. Perhaps in the Arctic they’d had temperatures like this in winter…never in summer.
Shivering, she called Sandra’s name, and searched for signs until they finally stumbled over recent footprints in the snow. They were already frozen hard. She knew it must be Sandra; after all, who else would’ve gone this way? Still, the fear they were wrong, that it wasn’t Sandra after all, struck her. They pressed on, snow crunching beneath their feet. Fear and need began gradually to fill her, pressing more and more, even beginning to turn to panic. Suddenly, Dawn knew it wasn’t her own fear or panic. She focused, and realized she knew the others nearby focus and concentration, and she could, dimly, feel her own deliberation as an unwavering point beneath the emotions somehow coming from outside. She frowned, and tried a trick she’d read about in fantasy novels-but never thought she’d use. Imaging that deliberate locus of herself wrapped in a glowing net, the panic and fear fell away, screened out by the net just enough for her to sense-a more reliable guide than any footprints. Empath. Shivering with reaction, but sighing with relief, Dawn led the small group on, the small light of the torches flickering and gusting with their movements, but doing little to dispel the darkness or the deep cold. The remote sense of fear led her on inexorably, but began to flicker. She moved faster-they’d be lucky to reach Sandra in time. Dawn looked up from the path, eyes caught by something far in the distance.
The starlight reflected, faintly, blue off the ice, towering in the distance. The ground shook, rhythmically, like a bass drum. Or, Dawn thought, incredulous, footsteps.
Thankfully, it wasn’t long before Mike gave a yell for help-Sandra had been found. Wrapping her in the blankets, he scooped her up, and the searchers turned back as quickly as they dared-Sandra wasn’t moving. Dawn smiled through the concern-luckily, Mike was practically a Viking and fairly radiated heat-at least that had stayed true. Sure enough, Sandra stirred before they were halfway back.
Drowsy, Sandra was only half aware of movement and a furnace-like heat. She could feel blankets, and warmth-it was almost too warm. She struggled slightly, but she was so weak she didn’t even manage to stir the blankets. She faded again. This time, when she woke, she was beside a fire, back in the airport, swaddled in blankets. Heat flooded her, and she struggled, succeeding in turning her head and knocking a stone away with a clack.
Someone stirred nearby, sitting up from their own cocoon of coats and blankets. Sandra recognized Dawn, and saw her family sleeping nearby in the same breath, before Dawn scooted over, speaking quietly. “Hey. Are you cold?”
Sandra shook her head. “No-I’m burning up!”
“You might not be used to being warm again yet. I’d say let’s keep you wrapped up awhile still….”
The reality sank in. “You rescued me!”
Dawn nodded. “Aye, me and Mike, and your sister and Mom.”
Sandra, to her horror, burst into tears-it felt like scorching trails down her cheeks.
Dawn scooted over even closer to her. “Feeling guilty?”
Sandra nodded, not wanting to talk about it-but to her surprise, what she said was, “What’s wrong with me?”
Dawn leaned over slightly, closer into the firelight. “Is this because you Healed someone?”
Sandra nodded.
“Sandra…Look at me.” The shadows played over Dawn’s features, flickering over her ears—which, to Sandra’s distinct surprise, pointed at the tips. “Look at Mike.” Mike, who slept near the fire-and whose hair reflected a metallic silver.
Sandra’s eyes widened further-it had been blond before!
Dawn leaned in confidentially. “His skin’s gone a charcoal-gray, too. He was 6’3-I swear he’s shot overnight to 6’6. He’s still a big guy, but, well-nothing like before. Oh-and his ears point too, more than mine even.” Dawn paused. “Sandra—we’re changing. All of us.”
Sandra panicked. “H-how? Why?”
Dawn shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. Maybe it’s just…time.”
“Time?” Sandra demanded. Then, “How can you be taking this so calmly?” Indeed, Dawn fairly radiated steadiness and calm.
Dawn smiled. “Firstly-it’s my Gift. You’re a Healer; I’m an Empath. It’s what I do, and I’m projecting it like hell right now.” She grinned.
Sandra smiled tentatively back-she couldn’t help it. The grin was infectious.
Dawn continued, “Secondly…Well...Sandra, there are some of us who’ve expected something like this was coming. For a long time now, in fact.”
Sandra nodded. “You and Mike?”
Dawn nodded. “Among others.” Sadness briefly touched Dawn’s face before she continued. “I know you’ve had a fairly dramatic awakening to it, but to us, the only surprise is that it took so long.”
“Dawn…What’s happening? What was coming?”
Dawn turned to face her. “Simply? Magick is coming back. The Earth is putting things back the way they always should have been.”
“But…how? Why?”
Dawn smiled at Sandra’s simple question, and shrugged. “We don’t exactly know. Honestly-there were a lot of theories—a critical threshold, the thinning of a Veil between the worlds-…but we’ve no real way of knowing which is true…” Her voice trailed off, but she resumed quickly. “And frankly-it doesn’t matter; what matters is, that it’s happening, and we-well, our job now is to survive. We’ve been reset.”
Sandra nodded. “Maybe…it’s to help us survive this…reset.”
Dawn nodded in return. “I agree. Intentionally or not, it does seem it will do just that, doesn’t it!”
They just watched the fire play in the shadows awhile, Dawn lost in thought and Sandra simply taking it all in.
After a time, though, Sandra decided to brave another question. “Um…Dawn? Why is it I can feel emotions if I’m a Healer?”
Dawn looked surprised. “Huh. Do you now. I’d heard Healing and Empathy are closely related; maybe that’s it; of course, you may have Empathy, too. We’ll have to see, when we have time.”
Sandra nodded, then thought of yet another question. “And why is Mike’s hair…silver? Like, the metal?”
Dawn nodded. “And his skin’s gray, too. Essentially, he’s Drow.”
“Drow? What’s that?”
“Um…Well, a type of Elf. With dark skin and light colored hair.”
Sandra grinned, hesitance and fear forgotten. “Cool! Elves are real?”
Dawn laughed softly. “He is an elf, more or less, so yes!”
“Are you an Elf, too? Am I an Elf?”
Dawn looked at Sandra, considering. “Put a hand to your ear.”
Sandra did. Her ear felt—normal. Rounded. She said so.
“Well, Sandra, then I don’t think you’re Elven…Not everyone is an Elf who has magick. I’m not; I’m a Halfling, if anything-this…shift…has just confirmed it. But who’s to say, for sure.” Dawn smiled. “Not burning up anymore, are you?”
Sandra blinked, surprised at the change of subject. “No…I’m warm…but not overly so. And I can feel the fire now.”
Dawn nodded, and yawned. “Good-I’d say that means you’re warming up!”
On seeing the yawn, Sandra’s own body remembered the recent ordeal, and demanded rest. She yawned, too.
Dawn chuckled slightly, then said, “And with that-I’d say let’s get some more sleep while we can.”
Sandra nodded once more and settled in again, and was asleep almost before she could blink.
Dawn wasn’t quite so swiftly asleep, lost in memories of those, like her, like Mike, who’d sensed the turmoil-and who, likely, hadn’t survived to see it come.
The ice-borne creaks, thuds, and hollow booms continued, audible through the night in the airport. The fires were barely enough to keep killing chill at bay.
Dawn reached a decision. In the morning, it was time to go south. Away from the ice. Away from here.
The morning brought a thin, bright sun streaming in through the cracks around the boarded up windows. Unfortunately, the icy cold air still streamed in as well, the various fires throughout the airport flickering with the drafts. Sandra was finally in agreement with the decision made; it was time to go. The ice was too close now.
Preparations began, a final breakfast had. The refugees streamed out into the cold, lessened only slightly from the night before by the thin sun and the fact that each survivor wore every scrap of clothing they owned. Stopping, they stared in awe; the ice wall was now so close it almost looked like they could touch it, so close they could see a perpetual icy powder being blown off of it by the wind, frigid diamond motes glinting as they fell through the air.
Sandra stared, awed and no small measure of afraid-it was beyond time to have been gone. Then, almost as one, driven by the desire to be *away* from the ice, the group started south.
Throughout the morning, they moved south, rotating so the group breaking the trail through the snow didn’t exhaust themselves too quickly. Some time after noon, the word went around; keep an eye out for anything the group could use as a shelter. Finally, as the sun headed towards the horizon, the exhausted, cold group began to settle in to survive the night; a large ravine in a crack along the roads served as a shelter, with a temporary roof of logs and boughs to keep as much heat in as possible. They started fires as soon as they could; the downfall of cliffs is that they took a lot to warm up, and radiated the chill until they could reflect the fire’s heat. The good news was, the farther south they got the warmer they would get. For now-they huddled for warmth around the fires, as close as they could be, wrapping up in blankets and sharing body heat. Those lucky few with handwarmers shared, alternating hours between those who needed it. Stars came out and darkness settled in, and people began to try to snatch what sleep they could.
Then, a gasp went up from someone nearest the entrance; murmurs drew others to stare. Ripples spread, until Sandra found herself compelled to walk up to investigate. People were pointing out, so Sandra shoved her way forward. And stopped and stared herself. The ice wall shone in the last light of the rays, a transparent, radiant blue. The thud and creak of the ice was nearly constant. Then, finally, her brain resolved the scene and she saw it, the reason for the disturbance.
The aurora rippled overhead, sheets of undulating color lighting the sky. Beneath it, huge beings moved along the ice wall, towering over it, all along the edge as far as she could see. They were so large their footsteps were audible even at that distance. They paused irregularly, leaning towards it, alternately breathing frost and ice at the wall, reinforcing it, or smashing a fist down, breaking off huge chunks of ice, which flew thousands of feet in every direction. The beings shaped the ice; they were the ice, glaciers given giant form. They were every color ice could be, from the dull gray of rotten early spring ice to the bright turquoise of the truly old ice that formed the glacier’s heart.
Awed, the refugees stood, staring, spilling out of the cliff. Slowly, the realization spread. They thought they’d owned the world, but that was the world they knew. This world was no longer their own. The Earth had just changed the game they’d thought they’d played so well; instead of rule and conquer, now, like every other living being, the game was simple. Survive. That was the human right; no more, no less.