realize how frightening their situation was.
With the single beam of light from the flashlight that
had been in the glove compartment, they could see that
the van’s right front wheel rested against a mound.
Turning, she cast the thin beam in a semicircle and
realized that the road—or what must surely be road—
curved. She’d gone straight.
“Try reversing,” Dieter suggested. “A couple of us
can push, too.”
Moments later, they were on the road again. Fiona
waited until the boys clambered back in, bringing a
burst of cold with them and shaking off snow. This
time, Dieter got in the front seat.
“You know the rules,” she began.
“Yeah, but maybe I can help you see.”
After a moment, she nodded, then with a hand that
had a fine tremor put the van in gear and started
forward.
Where were the snowplows? she wondered in frustration, but knew—they would be working on the more traveled highways.
I’ve endangered these children’s lives with my bad
decision. She felt as if ice were running though her veins.
“What if we get stuck?” Amy asked, in a high, frightened voice.
“We’ve done fine so far.”
“But…”
Dieter said, “They don’t close passes without
sending, like, a state patrolman over it to be sure no one
is stranded.”
Fiona was momentarily reassured until she thought
about how many roads there would be to patrol. And,
because this snowfall was so heavy, anyone coming
behind them might find the highway totally impassable.
Out of the van back there, she’d realized how bitterly
cold it was tonight. If they got stuck, she could run the
engine and the heater off and on, but none of them were
dressed for more than a dash from the parking lot into
a building. She, Dieter and Hopper were the only ones
with real winter parkas.
“Tell me if you see any sign of habitation,” she said
softly to Dieter.
Leaning forward, staring at the same white kaleidoscope she was, he nodded.
Fiona blinked hard to ease the strain on her eyes.
Stay on the road, keep going and sooner or later
they’d break free of the storm.
It was the staying on the road part that was the real
challenge.
JOHN FALLON hadn’t intended this trip to be a race
against the storm. Once he heard the weather reports,
he’d decided to move up the shopping expedition to
town he had planned for next week. But the storm
wasn’t supposed to hit until the middle of the night or
the following morning.
He was coming out of the country store with his arms
full of groceries when he saw white flakes swirling from
the sky. Given that he had an hour’s drive deeper into the
mountains and the blizzard, the sight wasn’t welcome.
Nodding at townsfolk when he had to, he took the
time to pick up his mail, go to the tiny liquor store and
then to top his Toyota 4Runner’s tanks at the Chevron
station before setting out for the lodge. With the snow
coming down harder, he skipped his usual stop at the
library to pick out new books and check his e-mail.
Within half an hour, he was cursing under his breath.
The snow was falling heavily—more like a midwinter
storm than a pre-Thanksgiving one. Good thing he’d
stocked up. If it kept on like this, the plows might take
a week to get to his place. The Thunder Mountain
Lodge, of which he was now proprietor, was the last
dwelling on the west side of the mountains. Just past the
lodge, the highway closed for the winter unless the
snowfall was light.
If this storm was any indication, snowfall was going
to break records this season.
He wouldn’t mind. When he bought the lodge in
December last year, John had intended to keep it operating, but he hadn’t done much advertising and he found himself looking forward to midweeks when he had the
place to himself.
Families were the most annoying. Cross-country
skiers, snowshoers, hikers; they were okay. They tended
to be out all day and come back tired. They’d eat quickly
and gratefully, maybe sit in front of the blaze in the
huge, river-rock fireplace that was the lodge’s heart,
then disappear into their rooms. But families… They
were another story. The mothers always wanted to talk