Free Trial by Ice by Casey Calouette

makeshift sleds. The men stood shivering as the final bindings were crossed and began moving south.
    The anticipation of arriving somewhere closer was tempered by the great unknown of what exactly awaited. Heads were kept low, arms tucked in close, feet tromped step by step. At every rise eyes looked upwards as the hissing of the sleds followed behind. Every rise brought the same unending field of occasional debris punctuated by a wind sculpted rock.
    The moment the sun peaked they stopped and stood in a huddled mass. They were coated in a light mist like a herd of yak. A quarter of a bar of rations were handed out to each man. They stood in silence with the frozen chunk thawing in their mouthes. The silence was only broken by a shifting foot in the crusty snow.
    As suddenly as the storm had raged a few days before the air began to warm. They turned and faced south where the slightest breath of air slid along the snow. Warm air. Men took out the frozen ration bars and smiled at each other. Gloves came off, just for a moment, and men held out hands in the strangely warm breeze.
    “What exactly is this?” William asked to no one in particular.
    “I’d gather that as the weather shifted a warm front followed behind that storm,” Vito said before popping the ration bar back in.
    The crust of the snow slowly began to soften. It was a short lived victory. The misery of sliding a sled on warm snow is unmatched. The upper crust changes into something closer to mashed potatoes. The snow grew sticky, it clumped, it packed into dense balls. Sleds had to be lifted and heaved regularly. Now they were wet.
    The most devious thing about it, though, was beneath that upper layer of soft wetness was granular, hard, cold snow. Every step would punch through the soft wetness and slide into a granular zone that would stick to the wet pants and boots. The fatigue mounted and tempers flared.
    Grue slapped down the electrical cord and slapped his arms against his hips. “Fuck this! Fuck it!” He kicked, screaming at nothing, at everything.
    William’s legs ached, burned, and were cold and stiff all at once. He knew if they stopped, even for a short while, they’d have to set up camp and fast. “Move! Grab that rope and pull!” he shouted at Grue.
    “Fuck you!” Grue stabbed a finger in William’s direction. “Just fuck! You!”
    William leveled his eyes. “Everyone start moving.” He pulled the cord taut. The sled moved as everyone else pulled with it. He turned and watched as Grue tantrumed in the wake. He tugged angrily. If they stood, they died.
    William looked behind him. The sled was moving, Grue was hunched over like the rest with his lips fluttering silently as he heaved and grunted. He caught Berry’s eye who peered coldly. William tightened his grip and continued to pull. He had made a mistake—the wedge was growing.
     
    * * *
     
    Berry’s leg ached and throbbed as the wet snow froze against his soaked pants. The fool Grue stood beside him and acted like toddler. He stopped and waited and watched as the sleds around him moved. The ration bars were like gold resting against his heart.
    “Shut up,” he snapped.
    “My hands,” Grue said as he flexed his fingers back and forth.
    The sleds moved forward and he was left with Nur and Grue. “Turn around,” he said to Grue.
    Grue turned slowly and faced him. “Why?”
    Berry slapped him in the face with his sopping wet glove. “You fucking pull. This world of shit is going to end, but you need to work with me, you need to trust me.”
    Grue slipped down onto his knees and looked with a blank face into the crust.
    “Stand up,” Berry said. “I said stand up .”
    Grue looked up with broken eyes and stood slowly.
    Berry stuck his clammy cold fingers into his jacket and withdrew one of the ration bars. “Eat.” He handed it to Grue.
    Grue looked down at the bar and stuffed it into his mouth. He snatched a glance at the others and wolfed it down.
    Berry nodded to Nur