"My implant. Here." He turns, and sure enough there's what looks like a meal plate embedded in his skull. He has no idea if it's working or not, or how he could troubleshoot it without equipment, but that's not the more immediate problem. His fingers are turning blue.

York shakes his head at the question. "No. But we need to move around, find cover. Maybe in the mountains?" He gestures towards the rocky outcroppings upwind of them -- if they can't find anything they could fashion a shelter out of snow against the mountainside. Just until the wind dies down, then they need to find help. He doesn't have any of his gear and knows he won't last long out here. The others appear to be in similar straits.