One minute Yorick's inside, trying not to freak the fuck out, and the next he's outside. The cold is like a jolt to his very bones, and he can only stand and stare at first in dumbfounded horror.

He lifts a hand, turning it this way and that as though the glove that's suddenly on it will cease to exist. It doesn't, and the only thing that breaks him out of his stupor is Sam.

"I--"

Yorick runs, gripping his gun like a life vessel.

"What the fuck?" he hisses into the wind. "Where's Nat? What the fuck?"