A girl drove her pickaxe into the edifice. A sheer sheet of ice split off and crashed into shards. Cicero's arm came free and one punch eliminated the rest that enveloped her. Hands extended from above, faces gathered around a hole carved straight down. She regarded them, regarded Cook the string-cut marionette at her feet. Darien's blade had vanished, but Cicero still held her axe.
One blow. The ice blasted apart. What didn't shatter cracked and gave beneath the weight heaped atop it. A chain reaction occurred. Half the glacier crumbled. The ice, broken into tiny pieces, jangled as it ran in rivers. Jutting fragments destabilized and collapsed.
(Chicago, chapter 30)