There is no sound at all outside of the wind, the creaking of the near tree branches, and the occasional rhythmic flap of an awning or a flag somewhere out of sight. The snow is falling heavier now.

Always snow.

There is no motor. No plow.

“You’re beginning to wish you’d gone with them, aren’t you?” Karo, still wrapped in her blanket, still unwilling to leave the couch.

Nothing, Maeve thinks, could be further from the truth. She doesn’t want to be here at all.

Maeve wishes to God she had never come.

Karo seems off, in a deeper way. Paralyzed for the moment, biting at her thumb. She had high expectations for rescue by sunup; now the sun is up, and nothing has changed. Maeve has already mentioned the ice forming in the upstairs toilets and the news landed poorly.

“There’s no reason to think we’ve been abandoned,” Maeve says. But she’s doing the math in her head—it’s been eighteen hours since the others left.

She gets up to check the melting snow, pulling off the lid and giving the pot a violent shake.

What could have gone wrong? They got to the village and no one was there. There were other, bigger slides; the slides multiplied on each other. The trip from the empty village down to where people are did not go as well. Did not go at all.

She looks back to Karo, smaller and harder than ever where she’s curled in place on the couch.

“I know Dan said—”

“Oh, fuck what Dan said.” Karo’s head snaps up. “If Dan doesn’t show up with his rescue crew in another day or two, it’ll be you on your own, trying your luck down the mountain,” she says. “How much longer do you think we can really survive here?”

The speed of the turn throws Maeve for a loop. She can’t quite respond.

“You say there’s already water freezing in the bathrooms upstairs?” Karo keeps on. A half laugh. “The place is turning into an ice palace around us.”

“Okay.” Maeve sets the lid firmly back into place. “Maybe you need a little fresh air. I’ll hold the door open for you. Might make you feel better—”

Karo just stares at her.

Maeve pauses, not sure whether to keep talking or just forget it. Karo leans forward and peels back the blanket, revealing her legs. Her feet in their wool socks are curled, cramped beyond any of Maeve’s expectations. Each foot a crescent moon, a sickle, an exaggerated arching pointe.

“I can’t.”

Maeve wets her lip with her tongue, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“It could get so bad so quickly?”

“I’m sorry,” Maeve says again.

Karolina smooths the blanket back in place, then reaches down to massage her foot through the layers. Gingerly, as though it hurts to touch.