“I feel them again,” she whispered. “Thanks.” She sang again, so softly I couldn’t make out the words. I felt a surge of warmth in my own hands. Funny, I hadn’t thought about making myself warmer, only her.

“Here,” I said, picking up Frodo and handing him to her. “He’ll warm up your hands. When he gets too heavy, I’ll take him back.”

Malaiki took him in her hands close to her face. He licked her frosty cheek, and she giggled. Then she tucked him under her blankets and coat.

“Colder than a well-digger’s knee.” My dad always said that. I never knew exactly what it meant. I wished now that I’d asked him, one of those cold days I visited him for five minutes in the care center, trying to check off one more box on my duty list. Why didn’t I ask him to tell me his stories? Why didn’t I give him a reason for living? Why did I let him go?

I put my shaking water bottle to my mouth. My lips froze to it. I pulled it back and felt the blood, thankful for the fleeting moment of warmth. I shook the rock-hard water bottle. No more.

“Chew ice,” David whispered, his face cold-reddened. I did. After managing to get a few swallows of water, I fed slivers of ice to Frodo, now back from Malaiki, situated in the sling.

Malaiki stretched out her hand to me. I took her water bottle, not expecting it to produce anything when I put it to my lips. I tasted cold senaba, not yet frozen. I drank more, forcing myself to stop. I gave it back to her, trying to smile. We plodded on as darkness descended.

I was at Valley Forge. Winter 1777. George Washington. I was a weatherman pointing to a colorful chart with numbers, talking about blizzards. Cold fronts. Arctic air masses. I drank lime green antifreeze, winterizing my body.

Not much sanity left. Better use it while I can.

“Chili,” I said in my loudest voice. “My mom used to make the best homemade chili. With cheddar cheese melted on top. Onions. Ritz crackers.”

The words met with silence, dropping to the frozen tundra.

After five seconds, I heard a weak voice. “Coffee,” Shad said. “A large mug of coffee.”

“Dark Colombian roast,” David added.

“A bubble bath,” Victoria whispered.

“Hot tub,” Malaiki said.

“Sauna,” I grunted.

“Vegetable soup,” Shad said. “And, for dessert … no ice cream.”

We laughed weakly. I felt the coat of ice crack on my jacket. My body temperature seemed to rise slightly for the first time in hours.

“A barbecue,” Malaiki said. “Rotisserie chicken.”

“Put me straight on the rotisserie,” Victoria said.

“We’re all in a Jacuzzi,” Malaiki said, “filled with Shadrach’s vegetable soup.”

The old man reached his hand to me, and I grabbed it. Instinctively we rubbed our hands together, warming each other with sheer friction.