Iron Seas 03 - Riveted

next day. David ventured outside a few times to dig the entrance clear, but spent most of the day in the snow dome, reading to Annika from his journal. The next noon, the snow stopped. He crawled out and looked south. Only a few wisps of steam and ash still rose from the volcano. No animal tracks marked the fresh snow, though he searched through the afternoon for any sign. When he returned to the snow house, they shared the lastpiece of flatbread, stuffed their belongings into one pack, and decided to leave the next day.
    He couldn’t sleep, though Annika faded quickly. She’d been sleeping often to conserve her energy—or because it was waning. And even when awake, she frequently rested with her eyes closed and a faint smile on her lips.
    David held her through the night, listening to her breathe. When she woke, he watched her struggle to moisten her dry lips. They’d been digging up snow, drinking plenty of water. But the lack of food was still taking its toll.
    She smiled without opening her eyes. “Just a few more minutes while I dream of you.”
    He couldn’t laugh this time. The hungry rumble of her stomach was loud in the small space, and was answered by an agonizing ache in his chest.
    His heart was pumping blood that could save her. With a single transfusion, she’d be infected. He had no equipment to do it.
    His throat raw, he whispered, “Ready?”
    “Yes.”
    She wasn’t. She emerged from the short entrance tunnel and swayed to her feet. He caught her waist. Bending over, she braced her hands on her knees, drew deep breaths.
    “Just dizzy for a moment. Too long inside, I think.” After a long second, she straightened. “It’s already passed.”
    It would only become worse. He looked to the sky, desperately praying for Källa’s balloon to appear in the distance. Nothing but clouds. He wanted to stop now, to send Annika back inside where it was warm, where she could sleep.
    But if they didn’t go while she still had strength, they never would.
    She gripped the pole they’d used to mark the location, offered it to him. When he shook his head, she nodded. “I’ll walk behind you?”
    “Yes.”
    With David breaking through the snow ahead of her, they managed a slow, steady pace. He stopped frequently to rest, for Annika to catch her labored breaths. The snow came almost to her knees with every step, and despite the trail he made, despite the strength that allowed her to drive a troll for hours, it was still rough going.
    David paused again at two, but not because he’d stopped. Annika had halted behind him, leaning heavily against her pole, the red scarf fluttering. He couldn’t see her smile behind the blue scarf, but knew that she was by the tilt of her eyes, the lift of her cheeks.
    “I’m so glad…I have…your boots,” she said breathlessly.
    He was, too. “You’re all right?”
    “I was just dizzy again. I’m better now.” She glanced toward the sun. “Another hour or two?”
    Unable to speak past the ache in his throat, he nodded. He waited for her signal that she was ready before starting off again, listening to the steps behind him, each one seeming to come more slowly than the last. When she paused again a half hour later, gripping her pole, he pointed to the nearest slope.
    “We’ll camp on that rise,” he said.
    Annika only nodded. Too out of breath to talk.
    She didn’t attempt to help him build the snow dome. David thought he’d have to tell her to sit, to let him cut and carry the blocks alone, but she did without a protest, wrapping a blanket around her.
    The ragged knot in his chest didn’t ease, even when they were inside. She curled against him beneath her coat. “We did well today,” she said.
    “Yes.” Mostly downhill, a relatively easy trek. “Eleven miles, perhaps.”
    He felt her nod. Her eyes were already closing. On a yawn, she said, “We’ll find something to eat tomorrow.”
    They didn’t. Their tracks remained the only footprints in the snow. They’d rounded the north end of the glacier and were finallyheading south. Boulders and chunks of glacial ice jutted up out of the snow, smoothing out across the valley floor, rising again to the western glacier. Faint tremors shook the ground twice, dislodging bits of snow that rolled into balls before coming to a stop under their own weight. Annika paused more often, but always started again after a minute or two. She fell twice, and regained her feet before he could reach her side. That