POST-APOCALYPTIC

Loon

Where the cold winds blow

Photo by Xavier Balderas Cejudo on Unsplash

From far across the field of ice, we saw the smoke. The sun had polished the snow to mirror brightness and we hurried, fearing what the smoke foretold. But the beasts that pull our supply sleds can only trundle through the crusted drifts so fast. Too slow, too slow — but nothing could be fast enough, for my sister was there.