The snow fell everywhere now. And the crabs kept coming.
For a while, before the grid failed and the batteries in the radio went dead, rumors hovered around that the blizzards had yet to reach a few of the tiny islands off the coast of South America, and that due to the isolation of those places, safety and warmth were still viable in this world.
But it was all theory and gossip. And even if it was accurate, what did it matter? Those lands were far too remote for us to reach, even if we could have made our way to the coast. We had neither the resources nor the skill to navigate thousands of miles of sea. I suppose there were some scattered sailors and a few wealthy folk with vessels capable of making the journey, but we fell into neither of those categories.
And besides, suppose a few islands had been spared from the cataclysm, how long until they too fell under the blanket of white and the terror that followed? Another month?
“We can’t stay, Dominic. I know it’s hard for you to think about leaving right now, but we saw another one last night. And where there is one, there are at least two more. And maybe this time they don’t leave.”
Naia is right, of course. The longer we stay on the campus, bunkered in the flimsy safety of the student union, the narrower our window of escape becomes. “It’s too cold now,” I reply. “Look at the thermometer.” It reads four degrees.
