He awakens atop the ice, his body curled into a ball. He remembers fire.
He remembers how to breathe, but only barely. His extremities are numb but they still flex with effort. Sitting up he sees tightly-packed ice and snow. The horizon at his back is dark now, nuclear fire faded. There is no point in wondering how long he has been asleep; there is no point in wondering.
The only light on the horizon is smudge of pink and blue light, and beside it, the dark silhouette of a petrol station. He shuffles towards it.
And the buildings shuffle closer to him. Everything is so quiet except for the wind which whistles and howls. Beside the petrol station is a two-lane road. There are no cars. The pink and blue light is coming from a neon sign set behind glass.
WE’RE OPEN!
He looks inside and sees red booths and checkered floors. There is a man sitting on a stool at the counter and a waitress wearing an aquamarine-coloured uniform is moving between tables and wiping them over.
With numb hands he grips the door and leans against it. A bell tingles above him.