The group looked like survivors again.
Not fighters.
Not heroes.
Not hardened veterans.
Just survivors.
Cold.
Hungry.
Exhausted.
The kind of exhausted that settled into a person's bones and refused to leave.
Terri was bent nearly double beside a tree, vomiting into the snow for the third time.
Each retch sounded painful.
Violent.
The others made sure to keep their distance.
Nobody wanted that smell near them.
Especially not after running for their lives.
"Jesus Christ," Saul muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Do you ever stop puking?"
Terri lifted a trembling middle finger without looking up.
Saul nodded.
"Fair enough."
Another dry heave escaped her.
Naomi immediately took three steps farther away.
The reaction would've been funny under different circumstances.
Nobody laughed.
The adrenaline was gone now.
Only the aftermath remained.
Shaking hands.
Burning lungs.
The painful realization of just how close they'd come.
