Gabriel had not cried during the long frightening journey. Now he did.
He cried because he was hungry and cold and terribly weak. Jonas cried, too, for the same reasons, and another reason as well.
He wept because he was afraid now that he could not save Gabriel. He no longer cared about himself.
Twenty-three
JONAS FELT MORE and more certain that the destination lay ahead of him, very near now in the night that was approaching.
None of his senses confirmed it. He saw nothing ahead except the endless ribbon of road unfolding in twisting narrow curves.
He heard no sound ahead. Yet he felt it: felt that Elsewhere was not far away.
But he had little hope left that he would be able to reach it.
His hope diminished further when the sharp, cold air began to blur and thicken with swirling white.
Gabriel, wrapped in his inadequate blanket, was hunched, shivering, and silent in his little seat.
Jonas stopped the bike wearily, lifted the child down, and realized with heartbreak how cold and weak Gabe had become.
Standing in the freezing mound that was thickening around his numb feet, Jonas opened his own tunic,
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