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The Boy has a hard time falling asleep. He asks The Man if they're going to die. The Man says it'll happen "[s]ometime. Not now" (11.4).
The Man also says that if The Boy died, he would want to die too.
Still night. The Man listens to wind, water dripping, cold, and silence.
The Man wakes up before dawn. He coughs for a long time and then curses God.
They pass through the city. It's not a pretty sight. There's the usual ash and dust plus "[a] corpse in a doorway dried to leather" (14.1). The Man cautions The Boy: "Just remember that the things you put in your head are there forever" (14.1).
The Man remembers a day he spent on his uncle's farm as a child. Leaves, trees, color, and clear water. It seems perfect compared to what The Man and The Boy endure now: "This was the perfect day of his childhood. This was the day to shape the days upon" (15.1).
They travel south. It's cold. Everything is ash.
The Boy colors some fangs on the piece of cloth covering his mouth. The front wheel of the cart is "wonky" (17.1).
More long, cold nights.
The Man wakes up to the sound of thunder. He realizes that if they get rained on they'll get sick and die.
The Man thinks about the complete dark of the night. Some poetic stuff here: "He rose and stood tottering in that cold autistic dark with his arms outheld for balance while the vestibular calculations in his skull cranked out their reckonings" (18.1).
It starts to snow. The Boy catches a snowflake in his hand "and watched it expire there like the last host of christendom" (20.1). That doesn't sound good.