She couldn't walk better. She kept falling. She had been doing this forever, stumbling, falling, getting up.
And every time it was a little harder.
Her cords felt like slabs of ice on her legs. She looked at them with distant annoyance and saw that they were covered with adhering snow.
Okay-maybe take those off, too?
She couldn't remember how to work a zipper. She couldn't think at all anymore. The violent waves of shivering were interspersed with pauses now, and the pauses were getting longer.
I guess ... that's good. I must not be so cold-----
I just need a little rest.
While the faraway part of her brain screamed uselessly in protest, Gillian sat down in the snow.
She was in a small clearing. It seemed deserted-not even the footprints of a ground mouse marked the smooth white carpet around her. Above, overhanging branches formed a snowy canopy.
It was a very peaceful place to die.
Gillian's shivering had stopped.
Which meant it was all over now. Her body couldn't warm itself by shivering any longer, and was giving up the fight. Instead, it was trying to move into hibernation. Shutting itself down, reducing breathing and heart rate, conserving the little warmth that was left. Trying to survive until help could come.
Except that no help was coming.
No one knew where she was. It would be hours before her dad got home or her mother was . . .
awake. And even then they wouldn't be alarmed that Gillian wasn't there. They'd assume she was with Amy. By the time anyone thought of looking for her it would be far too late.