The Great Alone

She heard a hiss of sound—something gone wrong with the engine—and the whining creak of settling metal.

Mama said, “The bus is lying on its side. I think we’re on solid ground, but there could be farther to fall.”

Another way to die in Alaska. “Will someone find us?”

“No one is going to be out in weather like this.”

“Even if they were, they wouldn’t see us.”

Moving cautiously, Leni felt around for the heavy, clanking backpack, found it, and burrowed through it for a headlamp. Fitting it onto her head, she flicked the switch. The glow was too yellow, otherworldly. Mama looked freakish, her bruised face waxlike and melting.

That was when Leni saw the blood in Mama’s lap and her broken arm. A bone stuck out from a tear in her sleeve.

“Mama! Your arm. Your arm! Oh, my God—”

“Take a breath. Look at it, look good. It’s a broken bone. And not my first.”

Leni tried to settle her panic. She took a deep breath, submerged it. “What do we do?”

Mama unzipped the backpack, began pulling out gloves and neoprene face masks with her good hand.

Leni couldn’t look away from the splintered bone, from the blood soaking her mother’s sleeve.

“Okay. First I need you to bind up my arm to stop the bleeding. You’ve learned how to do this. Remember? Rip off the bottom of your shirt.”

“I can’t.”

“Lenora,” Mama said sharply. “Rip your shirt.”

Leni’s hands were shaking as she removed the knife from her belt and used it to start a rip in the fabric. When she had a long ribbon of flannel, she carefully scooted sideways.

“Above the break. Tie it as tightly as you can.”

Leni fit the fabric around Mama’s bicep, heard the groan of pain her mama made when Leni tightened it.

“Are you okay?”

“Tighter.”

Leni yanked it as tightly as she could, tied it in a knot.

Mama let out a shaky sigh and climbed back into the driver’s seat. “Here’s what we have to do. I am going to break my window. You are going to climb over me and climb out.”

“B-but—”

“No buts, Leni. I need you to be strong now, okay? You need it. I can’t get out and if we both stay here, we’ll freeze to death. You need to go for help. I can’t climb out of the bus with this broken arm.”

“I can’t do it.”

“You can do this, Leni.” Mama clamped a bloody hand over the makeshift bandage on her arm. “I need you to do it.”

“You’ll freeze while I’m gone,” she said.

“I’m tougher than I look, remember? Thanks to your dad’s Armageddon phobia, we’ve got a bug-out bag. A survival blanket, and food and water.” She gave a wan smile. “I will be fine. You go for help. Okay?”

“Okay.” She tried not to be scared, but her whole body was shaking. She put on her gloves and her neoprene face mask and zipped up her parka.

Mama pulled a life hammer out from under her seat. “The Walker place is closest. It’s probably less than a quarter of a mile from here. Go there. Can you make it?”