The ceiling grates against my back, the space so narrow I almost have to lie flat on my stomach to reach the lantern. I’m forced to rest my cheek on the ice, facing the bared teeth and clawing hands.

Some of the dead look like they’re asleep—like they collapsed down here, with no more living flesh to tempt them, and have been trapped ever since.

As I crawl I feel the top layer of ice beginning to melt under my touch. A tiny puddle already rests under the divot where the lantern rolled to a stop. Moans from the dead chasing me slip around the narrow space, bathing the frigid air with a sense of intense loneliness.

Stretching my arm as far as possible, I feel my fingers slide over the heated glass bulb of the lantern, knocking it just out of reach. Something brushes my foot and I glance over my shoulder, see fingers wrapping around my ankle. Teeth straining from the ice. All around me ice crystals sparkle and shimmer in the light and then there’s a sputter, a last gasping wheeze from the lantern, and everything goes black.

Chapter XLIV

I scream. I can’t help it. The darkness hits with such a startling intensity that I’m stunned. I clamp a hand over my mouth, silencing myself. Listening for the sound of another body moving.

The image is still imprinted in my mind. The Unconsecrated, half her body trapped in the ice. Reaching for me nonetheless, her movements agonizingly slow.

I kick and kick again, dragging my knees to my chest until I’m wrapped in as tiny a ball as possible. Sound is basically useless in the tunnels. It hits the walls and runs over the ceiling, making it tricky to judge direction or distance. A trace of air whispers up my back and my mind conjures the worst—dead lips against my skin—and I have to force myself to focus.

I listen to my breathing and then I stretch my senses beyond that. I hear water melting down icicles dripping to puddles collecting under my body. And then I hear a body unfolding. The pop of a joint stretching. The wheeze that comes before the moan.

I knew there were pockets of dead trapped in these tunnels. I knew it was only a matter of time. Twisting onto my side, I grab my machete and swing it toward where I last saw the lantern, hearing the blade clank across the metal, the glass rolling over ice.

Panic claws at my senses, desperate to overwhelm me and shut me down, but I refuse to crumble. I feel the tip of the machete hook the lantern, then slide it toward me and fumble in my pocket for the flint.

I strike. A tiny flicker of light that illuminates mouths and eyes a short distance away. I whimper.

Strike again.

Hands stretching toward me.