Chapter Three The Northern Waste

At first it was only a yellow line on the horizon. Soon that line rose into a moving wall. Wind came like thousands of knives from every side. The sky vanished. The sun vanished. The world became grit hammering teeth and eyelids. Jack wrapped his head and face in a blanket and led Old Bill and the two new horses into a shallow stone pocket. He tied the horses to one another, then tied himself to a rock. The storm lasted the entire night. In the dark he heard horses scream, wind howl, and a high sound like a woman crying. Several times he thought the ropes would snap. Several times he thought he would be buried alive. His mouth filled with dirt. His ears filled with dirt. Breathing felt like swallowing knives. But he did not let go.