Snow fell like rolling ash, twisting in the wind as three trucks rolled down the icy road. Their engines rumbled low, lights dimmed, wheels crunching over old frost. Inside the lead truck, Moon sat silent, leaning against the window, her reflection pale against the glass.
Behind her, women and children hurdled close, their breath forming small clouds that vanished in the dim of the orange glow from the pyrokinetics who burned slow embers in their palms, keeping the cold at bay.
Ahead, the storm bent unnaturally_ pushed back by the superhumans riding in the open trucks. The aerokinetics bent the wind, carving a narrow corridor through the snow.
So far, the journey had been smooth in Moon's opinion, because even when the mutated animals attacked, the superhumans did all the fighting all she did was wait until the battle was over and offer advice on what to keep and what to throw away.
