I wake with body shaking
     but the cold is not the cause.
I blink to gain some clarity
     and petition mind to pause.
Her fingers grip me tightly
     as the sounds come slowly in,
overriding silence
     and replacing calm with din.

At first I do not want to wake,
     a slow but steady dream.
I drift above my consciousness
     until that curdled scream.
It shocks me so; an evil hand
     breaks through to grin and gloat.
It holds me fast and chokes the air
     that rushes down my throat.

Inhaling hard; a drowning corpse,
     my sense to me returns.
As the taste of sweetest oxygen
     inside my body burns.
I dart my eyes. I send them out
     to scout the sights of scene.
A trail deep in snowy slab,
     a path of where I've been.

She dragged me whilst I visited
     the realm inside my head.
A world where life is still alive;
     and the bodies less than dead.
The sound returns. She shouts my name,
     the tears fill her eyes.
Until a wave of pressure serves
     to blacken darkened skies.

My ears react, this time I wince;
     an explosion did I hear?
Not far but close, the snow is blown
     by winds in atmosphere.
"I don't know what to do" she screams.
     devoid of usual grace.
"Xav!" my neck snaps center
     and I see her worried face.

A field of mines we stumbled on
     and the dead in their intrigue,
followed us into the fray,
     an army, nay, a league.
And with increasing frequency
     their numbers roll the dice,
win the jackpot undesired,
     and pay the hefty price.

Their bodies cast unto the air,
     with accompanying blast.
a warning from the crow's nest,
     yelling loud atop the mast.
And so their numbers grow,
     in death each one brings many more.
Clawing, gnashing, decomposed
     and rotten to the core.

They're just as I remember,
     as they speak their dialect crude.
Composed of grunts and gargling,
     whilst through skin their bones protrude.
Their stumbling not comical
     but sad and warrants pity.
The only remnants to survive
     the slaughter of their city.

The curing was a failure.
     Veraksys and their foe,
battled for supremacy
     to death's adagio.
And though they sought to sure the world;
     to end that viral reign,
instead they fought each other
     and ensured we died in pain.

Bolt upright now my body sits.
     She says, "We have to go."
Then trains of thought derailed,
     by the screech of radio.
"We're tracking you," the voice explodes.
     The girl attenuates,
by quickly turning dial
     on the box where voice orates.

"Follow our instructions.
     We'll lead you through the field."
A map they have located,
     where the danger is revealed.
"Head North," he states, the voice I know.
     Tis' Marcus I am sure.
Inferring our direction
     from the path we took before.

"He sees us on a map!"
     Yolanda smiles at inspiration.
The voice continues talking
     as he guides our destination.
She hushes me with fingered lips;
     I heed her to her request,
as the dead unto the sky propel:
     An explosion to the West.

A stranger thing I ne'er perceived,
     yet practiced now am I.
At putting trust in others,
     as the tensions multiply.
One day I'm sure, my time will come,
     to think upon my feet.
When tested by the pressure.
     and afflicted by the heat.

Marcus talks of twinning peaks,
     through snow I see them tall.
Towering white monuments
     that capture purest fall.
We head for right most mountain,
     'twas green when last I saw.
Although my strained attention,
     had a penchant to ignore.

A flock of birds fly overhead,
     perturbed not in the least.
So unafraid of latent race,
     now morphed to morbid beast.
I strain to watch them soar and swoop;
     in form, the group as one,
obscured by blizzard falling,
     that abates the aging sun.

I feel the cold now biting me;
     my fingers sore and numb.
I breathe into my cuppèd hands
     and squeeze on icy thumb.
We're walking fast, my heart is heard,
     a war drum thumping drone.
The brandished beat played well in time,
     by Nature's very own.

She leads me for an hour or more,
     the snow begins to ease.
Yet skirting round the mountain
     blows the fiercest biting breeze.
I raise my hand, the back of which
     bears brunt of chilling blast.
Thundered by the weather
     with intent quite unsurpassed.

Could Bertholdt be responsible?
     Could his reach have so much power?
That he could change the seasons so,
     and turn the climate sour.
I pray my thoughts are fiction
     as we wade through thickest flurry.
Pushing forward hungrily
     preoccupied with hurry.

A curse is squawked, our path ahead,
     is blocked by ice so shear.
A wall that stretches heavenward,
     as hope doth disappear.
The dead behind us closing in;
     our lead begins to cede.
Their greed, their gain, our life, our loss.
     misplaced in deadly deed.

"We have to climb." The words I hear;
     her gaze still fixed above.
The glint of hope the girl portrays
     among the things I love.
I know that deep down in my heart,
     together we'll prevail.
With love we share between us
     and my God, how could we fail?

The overwhelming odds thus far,
     the mountains we have scaled.
The times I've felt a convict
     so unfairly judged and jailed.
To think I held that blade so high
     with intent to take her life.
Yet now I'd love for nothing more
     than a day as man and wife.

A day without the danger,
     or fighting for our lives.
When the day feels not like waking up,
     upon a bed of knives.
'Tis then I realise how our love
     was formed and molded so,
by living through our hardships
     through whatever life may throw.

And then I see our obstacle
     is not a wall of ice.
Instead a bank of earth piled high,
     all rough and imprecise.
The rainfall and the biting wind,
     an icy coat hath made:
a cake on fancy pedestal
     adorned in ivory shade.

We hear the dead. They call to us.
     on breeze their sweet song carried.
A serenade of gruesome groans
     that leaves us oddly harried.
"Up there!" she speaks, and quick like cat,
     her nimble body leaps.
Landing on a crooked ledge
     where icy tendril creeps.

Amazed I am, her balance kept,
     she offers helping hand,
and hoists me up so ably
     though I lack the nerve to stand.
I watch her eyes survey the wall.
     the flash that hue so rare.
Two precious gems bequeathed to heir,
     of wealthy millionaire.

The snowfall helps, the powder gives
     more grip than I expected.
Uneven earth now filled with ice,
     eroded old dejected.
She smiles at me, that simper pure,
     my heart beats all the faster.
As flakes trace outline of her frame
     descending ever past her.

In minutes few Yolanda makes
     the final push for top.
The snow begins to pelt again
     amassed on tabletop.
She grabs plateau in search for hold,
     it leaves her unfulfilled.
Instead a hunk of crystal falls
     from Nature's shoddy build.

I see a flash: a chandelier,
     comes falling from the sky.
The dimming light illuminates
     the ice to catch my eye.
As frozen mallet dives at me
     my heart doth feel its chill;
cowering in interim,
     upon the silvery sill.