The sound of wolves howling jerked Oz out of a sound sleep, setting his heart hammering against his ribs. Beside him York muttered something in a sleepy grumble and snuggled back in against him, warm against his chest. Oz absently ran his fingers through York’s thick hair, listening and waiting for his heartbeat to slow down. The wolves howled again and he glanced automatically at the car’s windows, but they were completely frosted over and he could see nothing.
Something thumped against the outside of the vehicle and Oz tightened his grip on York, feeling heat build in the palms of his hands. York made a protesting noise and pushed away from him, opening his eyes to give Oz a sleepily annoyed look.
“Hurting me,” he mumbled. “’S wrong?”
“Hear them?” Oz asked, head tilted slightly.
“Hear what?”
“Wolves howling.” Oz relaxed a little and kissed the top of his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”
He stroked York’s hair until York had drifted off again, then twisted gently until he could rub away the frost coating the inside of the nearest window. The cold burned the tips of his fingers until he concentrated and warmed his hands, melting the frost away in a fan-shape around his hand. He thought suddenly of Sarah, twisting and screaming as fire consumed her. He forced the thought away and peeked out the window, breathing shallowly to keep his breath from steaming up the glass again.
Lean black and silver shapes flowed over the snow outside, more shadow than solid beast. One came up close to the car and looked directly at him, eyes glowing golden, then it slid back into the darkness. Oz found he wasn’t afraid of them, though he’d seen a flash of sharp white teeth when the wolf had approached. Something about them was too beautiful to be threatening.
A howl rose into the air from directly behind the car and he felt a chill of excitement tingle down his spine. He tried to get out of the car but York’s solid weight trapped him and after a few moments he gave up and settled back again. Sighing, he closed his eyes and listened as the wolf song rose up around him, until he gradually slipped back into sleep.
The sunlight of the next morning barely took the chill out of the air and Oz refused to crawl out from under the warmth of the blankets and York until his full bladder demanded it. He awkwardly shoved his feet into his boots and crawled out the side door, breathing shallowly so the biting cold wouldn’t send him into a coughing fit. It didn’t take much effort at all to keep himself warm with a thought, and he didn’t even open his eyes fully as he crossed to a nearby tree and emptied his bladder into the fresh-fallen snow.
As he walked back to the car he almost stumbled over new tracks in the snow, kept from obliteration by the overhang of the car. He crouched down to inspect them, holding his hand out with fingers spread to judge their size. Even the smallest of the tracks was bigger than his hand and the biggest—a massive pawprint missing one toe—made him shiver just to see it.
“Oz?” York climbed out of the car and made a face, wrapping his arms around himself, his breath billowing out white. “Yuck. What are you looking at?”
“Wolf tracks.” Oz got up and went to wrap his arms around York, nuzzling his neck. “First animals we’ve seen in a while.”
“I’d rather see a grocery store,” York grumbled. “We need to stop and get more food soon. Ready to get going?”
“Yeah.” Oz kissed his cheek and moved around to the other side of the car, sliding into the passenger seat.
He tipped his head back against the seat as York coaxed the cold engine into life, trying to ignore its choppy, unhealthy sound. The Jeep had been a well-maintained vehicle and equipped with snow tires, but the heavy snow over the past week had taken its toll, especially without snow plows to help clear the road. York had already been forced to throw up the same shield that had protected them on the highway, though he still refused to learn how to control it. The ability only manifested itself when he was scared, and it only made him more frightened and determined not to use it.
Oz himself had been practicing with his new ability every time he was alone, until he could call up heat at will. The sensation of fire just under his skin had become a comforting and familiar one, though he hadn’t yet tried to do anything big with it. He was torn between his pride at his accomplishments and worry over York, who was only looking paler and more drawn with each passing day.
He shifted in his seat and turned his head to look out the window at the white landscape creeping by. A slim silver shape paralleled the car, easily keeping pace with its long legs. It looked like a wolf, pink tongue lolling from its fanged mouth as it loped, but looking at it directly made Oz feel suddenly dizzy. He found he could see it better if he used his peripheral vision to watch it, but even so it sometimes seemed to disappear in spots. More silver and black shapes soon joined it, until there was an entire pack bounding along beside the car.
Oz glanced at York but York was still looking straight ahead, his brow furrowed in concentration as he followed the faint trail that was the road. Smiling a little, Oz looked out the window again but his smile faded when he saw the pack was gone. The unending drifts of snow and ice looked even bleaker without the slim silver shapes to break the monotony.
At noon York pulled over and they ate a quick, dry lunch, washing it down with bottles of half-frozen water. When they were done, York crawled back into the front to start the engine again while Oz packed up. He pulled on an extra sweater, sure it had gotten even colder, and got out of the car to stretch out his legs.
He heard movement to his right, in the shadows under the trees, and immediately pressed his back to the side of the Jeep, raising a hand to call up the fire. He relaxed as one of the now familiar silvery shapes padded out of the shadows and sat in the snow, panting gently. Smiling a bit, he turned the defensive gesture into a slight wave, and felt his mouth drop open when the wolf solemnly lifted a front paw in return. He watched as it slipped back under the trees and almost took a step forward to follow it, then stopped himself and got back into the car.
“We might have a problem, Oz.” York pointed to the key in the ignition then tried to turn it. The engine made only a choking, whirring noise and cut out before it even got started. Frowning, York turned it off and waited a few moments, then tried it again. The engine almost caught, then coughed and choked. Looking panicky, York tried it a third and fourth time, until Oz caught his wrist and pulled his hand away.
“Now you’ve probably flooded it. Give it a few minutes.” He raised a hand and stroked York’s cheek, then slid his fingers across the back of York’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. York leaned into him, looping both arms around his waist, and for a few minutes Oz forgot about the snowy world outside.
He reluctantly let go when York pulled back and tried to turn on the car again, but after another ten minutes they were forced to admit defeat. Even the lights were beginning to dim and Oz made York stop, afraid they would completely kill the battery. The day was growing dark as clouds covered the weak sunlight, and soon after snow began to fall in large fluffy flakes that quickly blanketed the Jeep’s windshield.
“Now what?” York asked, exhaustion colouring his voice.
“We walk. Not now, tomorrow, when it’s light out.” Oz glanced outside and saw nothing but snow. “Let’s just try to keep warm and sleep.” He climbed into the back and built up their nest of blankets to sleep in, keeping his layers on as he crawled underneath them. After a moment York joined him, but turned away when Oz pulled him in and kissed his neck. Sighing, Oz settled for nuzzling him until he drifted off.
When he was sure York was asleep, he freed one arm from the blankets and cupped his hand in the air. A moment of concentration summoned up a small flame in the palm of his hand and he let it dance across his fingers and then down his arm. When it reached the edge of the blanket, he snuffed it out and closed his eyes, relaxing into a sleep fragmented by dreams of silver and black wolves running through the snow. Their song threaded through his dreams and he smiled a little in his sleep, relaxing.
They left the car at dawn, carrying as much as they could handle in the deep snow. York was silent as they shoved their way through the snowdrifts and Oz was content to let him think, caught up in his own thoughts and concentrating on not losing his footing. The snow still fell, though the flakes had shrunk small enough to sting their cheeks when the wind gusted. Oz distracted himself by thinking about summer and the beach, until he realized it was getting easier to walk.
He looked down and saw the snow was melting around his legs, though it froze again as soon as he moved forward. Oz hesitated, looking at it, then reached out and caught York’s arm, pulling him back. York jumped and gave him a startled look, blinking as the wind whipped snow into his face.
“Take my hand.” Oz offered one gloved hand and smiled when York took it.
“How... You’re so warm.” York looked him over, frowning slightly, then looked down at the melting snow around them. “Oz...”
“It’ll make our walk easier. Don’t complain, just stick close to me.” Squeezing his hand, Oz pulled him forward.
The snow grew heavier outside their little bubble of heat. Oz kept the pace fast, pulling York up when he stumbled. The wind gusted hard enough to stagger them, though its chill bite was tempered. They walked huddled together, shoulder to shoulder, heads ducked against the wind and swirling snow.
Oz saw it first, a human-shaped shadow darting at them from the deeper shadows beneath a tall stone wall. He swung towards it and let fire leap from his outstretched hand, ignoring York’s cry for him to stop. The creature shrieked as fire consumed it but still staggered towards them, snatching at Oz’s fingers. Oz shuddered in revulsion and shoved York behind him, trying to protect him as more creatures loomed out of the darkness.
“York, put up a goddamn shield.” Oz’s voice cracked and flames surged towards another of the creatures that had come too close. “I can’t do it all myself. York!” He risked a quick glance at York and groaned at the expression of frozen fear twisting York’s features.
The silver shapes came silently out of the darkness, there and gone with no more noise than the snap of sharp teeth as they brought the attacking creatures down. Their attack was vicious and well-coordinated as they appeared and disappeared through the shifting curtain of snow. Oz caught hold of York and pulled him against his chest, watching the wolves with wide eyes.
When it was over, the biggest of the wolves padded over to them, licking its chops though no blood stained its muzzle. It sat at Oz’s feet and seemed to become more solid, its silver fur shining gently in the half-light. Even sitting the top of its head came up to Oz’s chin. For a moment they looked at each other, then the wolf reached out its long snout and gently hooked its teeth in Oz’s coat, tugging him forward a step. Taking a deep breath, Oz looped an arm around York’s waist and followed the wolf.
It led them quickly through the blowing, drifting snow, its long silver tail a plumed marker in the dimness. The rest of the pack fell in around them in a loose protective circled, fading in and out with the shadows. Oz was forced to let the fire fade out of his skin, beginning to feel too exhausted to maintain it. The cold settled onto them and into them despite their layers of warm clothing and their steady movement. Oz kept an arm around York to support him, fighting the urge to lie down and go to sleep.
True darkness fell, sucking the last remaining warmth out of the air. Oz could barely feel his hands even with his gloves, and his clothes were crusted with snow; his feet and the bottoms of his pants were soaked and half-frozen. It hurt to breathe and he tucked his face into the collar of his coat, clumsily pulling his scarf up over his nose. He could feel York shivering against his side and still the wolf led them onwards.
“I can’t keep going,” York muttered. “’S too cold.”
“You can.” Oz gave him a squeeze, struggling to form words through numb lips. “We’ll get to shelter soon.” I hope, he added mentally and kept walking.
York fell to his knees only a few feet further, dragging Oz down with him. Oz tried to pull him upright again but York was little more than dead weight, his head hanging limply. Tears of frustration and fear pricked at Oz’s eyes and he punched York in the shoulder, yelling at him to get up; but there was no response.
The wolves closed in and Oz felt a momentary jolt of fear, but they only helped him tug and shove York over the pack leader’s broad back. Oz used one of the other wolves to steady himself as he got back to his feet and dragged himself forward. The world narrowed down to a long white tunnel with the lead wolf at one end.
A dark shape appeared suddenly, broad and squat, and the lead wolf disappeared into it. Oz ducked in after it and found himself in the mouth of a cave, dark and damp, but out of the wind. He looked around briefly but one of the wolves caught at his sleeve and pulled him down a narrow tunnel until they came out into a natural room carved into the rock. A man sat on a pile of blankets at the far end, his back against the wall and his chin on his chest, breathing in the deep rhythms of sleep. The wolves dragged York there and stepped back as Oz cautiously approached.
The man opened hazel eyes and in his peripheral vision Oz saw the wolves fade away into mist. The man studied him intently, his expression inscrutable, then gestured for Oz to sit. After a quick glance at York’s limp form, Oz did as he was told, trying not to show his fear. The man got up and went to kneel beside York, then wrapped a blanket around him and returned to his seat.
“He’ll be fine once he warms up.” The man stretched out his shoulders. “I’m Stefanos. You are?”
“Uh, Oz. And that’s York.” Oz’s hand crept out to stroke York’s hair. “Those wolves, they’re yours?”
“You could say that. I sent them out to find any other survivors.” He smiled faintly. “I was beginning to think there was just me.”
“I guess we owe you our lives. Thanks.”
“We need to stick together. You look exhausted. Sleep. You and your friend are safe here.” Stefanos indicated the pile of blankets and pillows in the corner and moved over to give Oz room to lie down.
Wrapped in a blanket, Oz watched the man through half-closed eyes, and saw him settle back against the cave wall. The wolves rose up around him, little more than misty shapes at first, until they bounded towards the cave entrance and disappeared into the darkness. Oz tried to watch a little longer, to see when they came back, but exhaustion soon caught up to him and knocked him down into a deep sleep.
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