Inverno

     "Crap!" I mutter to myself as I make an impact on the ice with a loud smack. I grit my teeth and try to get up, slipping in the process. My breath makes ragged clouds of steam in the freezing air and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from making any suspicious noises as I limp across the black ice. My ankle, already starting to swell, hurts like hell, and I shuffle over behind what looks like the wing of a once-occupied American fighter jet. The top halves of battleships surround the area, comforting me. I sit down on the iced-over black snow, pulling off my hood and letting heavy snowflakes and frozen ash catch in my eyelashes. I reach around and grab my backpack, pull out some expired over-the-counter painkillers, and pop a few in my mouth. I'm hungry, so it's time to start my journey back to the buildings of New York City.

     I've made this trip a thousand times but never does it get any easier. I balance on the black ice and slide down the snow hills that block my way, looking up occasionally to see if I'm walking straight, but not too much so that my eyes can get a break from all the flakes of ash raining from the dreary sky. I get to the familiar buildings and decide to scale the Ritz-Carlton Hotel once more. I've explored about half of what was the 23rd floor, weaving in and out of rooms and kitchens. I use my grappling hook to lodge it in the ice covering the brick and make it to the 24th floor. I would use the stairs if they weren't backed up with bodies and snow. Plus, walking up all the ice would be impossible. I then heave myself through a window and find myself in a suite. Immediately, I set my pack down and rummage through the cabinets and drawers in the kitchenette. I find a couple of frozen bottles of whiskey and toss them into my pack. I also find some books and frozen fish sticks in the freezer which are probably expired, but they might be okay even if they taste a bit off. After searching other rooms, I find a pack of hard twinkies and half a loaf of frozen bread and pocket them. Based on the amount of light outside, I guess that it's the afternoon and I lower myself out the window and begin to climb down the building. When I get to the ground, I put the hooks away and I begin my journey back home to my plane cockpit.

     Screaming pierces the chilled air and makes its way to my eardrum, causing my ears to ring in response. I freeze. As soon as I figure out what it is, I cover my head with my mittens and stumble over to the door of an abandoned apartment. After what seems like hours trying to get the door open, I body slam into it and fall shoulder-first onto the powdered floor. I gasp, all the air leaving my body. After a second, I slowly sit up, looking around me. I spot a table and drag myself across the floor to hide under it. When I get to the table, I spot something lumpy underneath and crawl closer to get a better look.

     A face stares back at me. The face is nothing but iced over-molded flesh and bone. My hand flies to my mouth as a shriek escapes my throat. I shake my head and try to push the body away with the tip of my boot, but it seems to be frozen to the cracked tile. The plane still screams overhead, and I hold my breath as if that wouldn't let them hear me. As soon as it seems distant enough, I limp outside to catch a glimpse. The plane seems to be heading down towards a building, but that doesn't seem right. The landing mechanisms don't appear to be working properly as it plummets towards the earth. Black smoke streaks the gray sky and one of the engines goes up in flames. I bite my lip and run towards it out of curiosity.

- - -

     After running (painfully) for about an hour, I come to a snow hill close enough to see the wreckage. The plane isn't at all what it looked like before - instead, it's on fire, and it's sinking into the snow. I slide down the hill and walk up to the pit. I pocket a wrench that I find next to the wreckage in the snow. There's no visible pilot, but I vaguely catch a bloody handprint and some drops of blood making a trail to a building with a broken "Bank Of," sign. I cautiously proceed towards the bank, making sure the coast is clear before I step out into the open. I find my way to what once was a window, and climb through carefully. I spot some blood on the epoxy of an abandoned workplace, cubicles surrounding me. I get my flashlight out.