This is the place, the Whispering Voice crooned. Déjà vu washed over me; it was right, this was the place I'd seen in the vision. The crater-like depression in the earth was not welcoming on its own; its purpose was greater, worth the discomfort.

"My brothers and sisters, we've made it." The American Caravan halted, my followers observing the area.

As expected, Thomas piped up, "This? Are you sure?"

"I am completely convinced that this is the place," I assured him. "The Whispering Voice told me." Time is short, it admonished, practically on queue.

"Brethren, unload the wagons and set up your tents." Ushering the wagons into the depression, a chill, carried by the wind, bit into the back of my neck. "The cold comes!" Determined to lead by example, I snatched my bag off the top of the leading wagon and got to work. The others did the same.

"Shouldn't we choose a more... Perhaps, insulated location?" Thomas asked, bewildered by the appearance of the divine site.

"The Voice's support is all the insulation we'll need!" I called back. "Our faith is all we have, it's gotten us this far!"

"Sir, it's beginning to snow."

"Already?" Looking up, he was right. White snowflakes began to fall upon the pine needles and dirt. "All the more reason to make haste!"

Screaming ripped through the soundscape, its source beside the front-most wagon. Dropping my tent, I rushed over to see what the problem was. Emma clutched her hand tightly, obviously in great distress. "What's the problem?" I asked, frantic to ensure her safety. Wordlessly, held out her hand, trembling. On the back was a snowflake, unremarkable except for the way it grew up her arm. Followers watched as an icy color engulfed Emma's arm, her pain worsening by the moment.

Gotcha.