11LanceThe sun rises as we step onto the rocky beach, the stones cutting into my feet. I’m panting and salty water slides from my body. Felicia steps out after me, shaking water from her hair. She’s shivering, but her lips are not blue or cracked, and she doesn’t seem to be moving with any sluggishness. I go to her and take her by the hand, giving her what little warmth I can.
“Now what?” she says, looking out over the French countryside.
The beach extends for a quarter-mile before meeting a long, flat stretch of green, dotted here and there with stone-built cottages as far as the eye can see. In the distance, green hills rise. I spot the cottage about seven miles away, a hazy thing at this distance, only visible because of the flatness of the plains.
“Now,” I tell her, “we walk. I know
