Jeremy's snowshoes kept getting stuck as he and his mother pushed their way south; they were trying to make their way from the southwest corner of Montana to the border towns of Arizona where it was said to still be more than habitable. The truck had given out four days ago and they had been on foot ever since. They'd only seen two other people, both dead from exposure; it was a sobering experience that had pushed them harder to make it. By Allison's estimation they had lost the car north of Phoenix near Apache Lake; she had tried not to cry, knowing it was just shy of 200 miles from there to Yuma and the snow was still so thick and heavy. As they passed the lake, Jeremy commented, Do palm trees grow this far north? Allison pulled the hood of her parka closer, not wanting him to see the sadness of memory in her eyes as she replied, They used to Jeremy, they used to.
Written for today's Write Now! prompt.