Chapter One

Snow.

Danielle Darcy couldn't believe it, but what she saw on the car's windshield was snow. Not rain, not even sleet–snow. One moment she'd been watching the mountian scenery rush by: a brown-gray cliff on the right, a pine-covered valley on the left. The next moment everything disappeared. All she saw now was a swirl of grainy white.

"Cool!" exclaimed Danielle's thirteen-year-old brother, Jake. Sitting behind her with the family dog in the Blazer's cargo area, Jake moved around back there trying to peer out one of the windows.

Danielle, who was fourteen, couldn't have cared less what her brother thought. All she could think about was the snow. She couldn't believe how dark everything looked outside. She glanced at her watch. Four-thirty. It wouldn't be dusk for another two and a half hours, yet suddenly the whole world had gone dim.

Dad switched on the windshield wipers, then the headlights. In the beams Danielle could see so many snowflakes rush at her that the sight made her dizzy.

Leaning forward to look out, Mom asked Dad, "So what's all this?"

"Probably just a squall," Dad said. Danielle wondered what a squall was but didn't ask. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. On the other hand, Dad didn't sound too worried. He just kept driving, though by now he'd slowed down from highway speeds to about thirty miles per hour. A few cars passed the Darcys' Blazer, but others were going slower than Danielle and her family. Two or three cars had even pulled off the interstate.

"It's too early for anything but flurries," Mom said. "If you ask me, October's too early for snow of any kind."

"That's not true," Jake said suddenly. "Not in Colorado. Jonathan told me the Rockies get snowfall off and on even in the summertime. It's part of the alpine climate."

Danielle wasn't interested in hearing her brother's lecture, but she decided not to interrupt. She was in no mood to argue with him. She was in no mood to be with her family at all.

They drove a while longer. The only sound was the hiss-scrape, hiss-scrape of the wipers on the glass. Danielle was amazed at how fast the snow coated the windshield. Even right after the wipers swept over the glass, she could barely see outside. Now and then she caught a glimpse of the cliff on her right–big angular rocks–but there was no view on the left. Even the headlights of the oncoming cars were reduced to faint yellow disks.

Danielle didn't mind snow. Under the right circumstances–like maybe the upcoming ski season–snow would be wonderful. What she'd seen of Rocky Mountain weather that summer, during the two-week Mountain Mastery course Danielle had taken, had thrilled her. Colorado weather was wild: the clearest, bluest sky she'd ever seen, then sudden clouds and rainshowers, then blue sky again, sometimes all in less than thirty minutes. No doubt the Colorado winter would be wild, too. And also fun? Danielle thought so. In fact, winter was one of the main reasons she felt glad her family had moved to Denver. Still, this wasn't winter. This was barely autumn. "Isn't this just great," Danielle muttered, feeling grumpier and grumpier.

"I don't like it any better than you do," Dad replied from the driver's seat.

"I want this to be over," she said.

"Well, so do I."

Danielle started to worry that they might rear-end a car ahead of them before Dad even saw it there. Then what? Would they all be killed? Or would they end up standing outside in the snow half the night waiting for the tow truck to rescue them?

She didn't intend to speak, but just then Danielle heard herself say, "This is getting tedious."

"I'll second the motion," Jake said.

"Would you two ease up a little?" Dad said. "This is reality. This isn't TV. We can't just change channels."

Danielle reached forward in the dim light as if holding a remote control gadget. She pointed it at Dad and pressed an imaginary POWER OFF button.

"So what do we do?" Mom asked. Her voice sounded calm, but Danielle could tell she was worried. Mom's face showed no emotion. That was unusual. Her features resembled Jake's more than Danielle's: blue eyes, small nose, and light-hued skin with a few freckles. Like her son, Mom often looked serious, though she had a good sense of fun, and the corners of her mouth sometimes trembled a bit if she tried to hide her smile. Right now Danielle couldn't quite be sure what Mom was thinking, but something clearly bothered her.

"This can't keep up," Dad told Mom.

"If anything," Mom replied, "it's getting worse."

"Look, it's October eighth," Dad went on. "How long can a storm like this go on before it fizzles out?"

Jake said, "Last year Denver had eight inches of snow on September tenth. Jonathan told me that. School got canceled for two whole days."

"He's got a point," Mom said. "We're not in New Jersey now. We don't really know what we're getting into, do we?"

Dad's only answer was to switch on the radio. At first there was just a lot of static. Then, after some bits of music, a voice came on: "–and a travel advisory for all high country roads, especially those in Routt, Jackson, Grand, Boulder, Eagle, Summit, Gilpin, and Park counties–" Dad switched off the radio.

"Well?" Mom asked.

"Well what?"

"I think we ought to turn back."

Dad said nothing for a while. Since Danielle was sitting right behind him, she couldn't see his face. Then she caught a glimpse of Dad's eyes reflected in the rearview mirror: dark brown eyes, just like Danielle's. Those eyes told her something, but she didn't know what it was. Then Dad said, "I think we need some time at the cabin."

"Fine–I agree," Mom said. "But is it really wise–"

"Jeannine, we're halfway there already."

"But just look at it!"

"I know," Dad told her. His voice sounded gloomy. "I know."

Danielle looked out the window and wondered if anything was out there at all. She could feel the car moving but couldn't see where it was or where it was going. All she saw was a zillion snowflakes billowing around her.

The whole world had turned to snow.

Chapter Two

What's going on? Jake Darcy wondered. He didn't know. It bothered him that his parents didn't know, either. For all he could tell, the whole family might as well have been lost in space. The view Jake saw as the car plowed through the storm was just like what an intergalactic traveler in a sci-fi movie would see when his spacecraft goes into warp speed: an infinity of bright specks rushing at him.

For a while the Darcys continued upward at about twenty miles per hour, the red taillights of a car ahead just barely visible in the storm. Then that car's right turn signal started blinking, and the driver pulled over. Jake saw other cars pulling over, too. His family's car passed a whole lot of them. His mom, dad, and sister all stared out the windows at the line of cars as they drove by. Even Flash, the Darcys' beagle, stared out the window.

"This highway's practically a parking lot," Dad said. Mom didn't answer him. She turned on the radio.

"–deteriorating weather conditions," said the announcer. "The Colorado State Patrol has now closed the following passes: Gore, Millner, Vail, Fremont, Hoosier–"

Dad switched the radio off again.

"Why did you do that?" Mom asked.

"If we're going to spend time at the cabin," he said, "let's just get there."

"Phil, I don't think this is a good idea."

Danielle said, "Would you guys just make up your minds?"

Jake turned and settled back into the cargo area. On the left was a toolbox, a coil of towrope, and other items of Dad's work gear. On the right were two boxes of quilts and cold-weather clothes that the family had brought along, intending to leave them at their mountain house for use that coming winter. Wedged there between the two piles of stuff, Jake felt as cozy as possible under the circumstances. Having Flash beside him helped: the dog eased onto Jake's lap and nuzzled against him for comfort.

Mom switched on the radio.

"–and has restricted all nonessential traffic on Interstate 70 above Millertown."

"What highway are we on?" Mom asked.

Dad didn't answer.

Jake said, "I-70." He twisted around to see his parents' reactions.

Mom reached forward, opened the glove compartment, and rummaged around till she found a Colorado map. She switched on the overhead light. "Anybody know where we are?"

"I don't believe this," Danielle said.

"A sign back there said Bedell," Jake told them.

From the front passenger seat his mother said, "Bedell, Bedell, Bedell..."

Jake glanced over at Danielle. His sister glanced back, then turned away, looking disgusted.

"Don't look at me like that," Jake said. "You're the one who wanted to go hiking so bad."

Danielle didn't answer him. She shook her head.

Jake turned to Flash for sympathy. Just because Danielle is fourteen, Jake told himself, she thinks she knows everything. Gazing down at Flash, Jake could tell that the dog understood how he felt. Yet Flash looked uneasy, too, as if starting to wonder what these humans had gotten him into.

"Here we are," Mom said. "Bedell. We're right down the road from Millertown."

Dad just kept driving.

"Phil, they've closed the interstate above Millertown."

"I know that."

"We'd better turn around," Mom told him. "They said all nonessential traffic–"

"Look," Dad said, sounding annoyed, "I'd call us essential. I'd call this trip essential. I'd call getting to the cabin pretty darn essential–" He cut himself short. "Sorry."

Jake sat there listening. The car was quieter than it would have been otherwise, for the snow on the highway muffled its noise. The windshield wipers made the only loud sound, an odd squeak as the blades went back and forth: Sorry. . . Sorry. . . Sorry. . . Sorry. . .

Jake knew that his father was under a lot of pressure at work. Mom was, too. Dad was a construction foreman for a petrochemical company in Denver; Mom was a marketing executive at a department store. Both of them were adjusting to their new jobs. Dad seemed particularly tense about his work. Jake didn't understand what the petrochemical company did– something about extracting oil from rocks–but he knew that his dad spent a lot of time in the Colorado mountains helping the company's crews at their field sites. Unfortunately, it now appeared that the mining and extracting processes might not be profitable. If things didn't work out, Dad would lose his job.

Sorry, said the windshield wipers. Sorry. . . Sorry. . . Sorry. . . Sorry. . .

At this point Dad turned off the interstate, drove up an exit ramp, stopped at a stop sign, and turned left. The Darcys' Blazer drove over a bridge spanning the highway.

"What are you doing?" Mom asked, sounding more puzzled than alarmed.

"Taking a shortcut."

Jake expected his mother to say something more–to argue with Dad again–but she didn't. In some ways her silence scared Jake more than if she'd hollered, screamed, or told Dad to stop.

Suddenly they were in a forest. Jake could see faint vertical lines that must have been trees, but otherwise the car's headlights showed nothing but the swirling snow. When he looked back, more snow billowed in the Blazer's wake.

"Joe Blakely showed me this shortcut," Dad went on. "It connects I-70 with U.S. 285. We took it a few weeks ago."

Slumped in her seat, Danielle forced herself upright to have a better look ahead.

"If we can get over to 285," Dad said, "then it's only another thirty-five miles or so to the cabin."

"What do you mean, if?" Mom asked.

"Not if–when."

"Phil, this is nuts."

"Trust me."

"I can't even see the road."

"I don't think it'll be a problem. It's an old mining road. If the miners could get up this in their horsedrawn carts, we can surely make it in a Blazer."

Jake leaned forward to look past his dad. The speedometer read about twenty miles per hour. The odometer read 16,401. The gas gauge read half full. He wasn't sure what difference any of this made, but it reassured him to see the instruments.

They drove for a long time. No one spoke. Now and then he saw trees or part of a cliff. Otherwise he saw nothing but snow.

The silence inside the car made him more and more nervous. Not just his family's silence–the car's silence, too. He couldn't even hear the car's tires on the road. He could hear the engine thrumming away but no sound of rubber against rock, dirt, or even packed snow. They might as well have been sailing through midair, for all he knew.

For a while he just stroked the dog on his lap. Then, feeling worried in a way he'd never felt before, Jake pushed Flash aside, eased away from the bundles on his right and left, and crawled over the passenger seat's back onto the seat beside Danielle. Jake sat down and carefully fastened the lap and shoulder belts. When Flash tried to follow him over, Jake pushed him back. "Stay," he ordered.

Flash lingered a moment with his paws resting on the back of Jake and Danielle's seat. Then he obeyed, settling into the spot Jake had just abandoned.

They drove and drove. Jake saw nothing but the car's headlights trying to shove their way through the storm.

Where are we? Jake wondered. Are we anywhere at all?

Suddenly Jake felt a big jolt. For a moment he seemed to be floating, weightless, just as he'd floated last spring, on the flight from the East Coast to Colorado, when the plane hit an air pocket and sank for what seemed like forever. Books, pillows, magazines, purses, even dinner trays and food had gone flying. The passengers had screamed and screamed till the plane stabilized.

This time no one screamed. There wasn't a chance.

Chapter Three

The whole thing started, happened, and ended by the time Danielle realized what was going on. She felt her body yanked straight ahead as if by a huge invisible hand. The lap belt and chest restraint caught Danielle's torso like another hand, but her legs kicked upward against the seat in front of her and both arms flung forward, bashing into the seat back. Her head twisted downward, too, so that her chin jabbed hard into her chest. For a fraction of a second Danielle thought the two invisible hands might rip her in half. Then she felt herself flung backward again into the seat, and it was all over.

Everything was dead quiet for an instant.

She was too stunned to scream. Then all at once she felt so afraid that she started to cry.

Danielle heard the others just then: first Dad calling out with a strange stuttering sound, then Jake hollering right next to her, then Mom screaming so loud that the scream made Danielle's ears ring. The jumble of noises scared her even worse, but it also stopped her own wail. Shaking hard, aching all over, Danielle sat there in the dark and felt so frightened she couldn't cry anymore.

Then she reached up and switched on the car's overhead light.

What she saw turned out to be far worse than what she'd expected. Doubled over right next to her, Jake clutched the back of his neck and groaned. Mom was trying to claw her way closer to Dad. And Dad sat in the driver's seat trembling, coughing, and gasping like someone who had just dragged himself to shore after having nearly drowned.

Nothing made sense. Danielle couldn't believe this was happening. It seemed like a nightmare, the worst nightmare she'd ever had, but it went on and on and on.

It took a long time for everyone to calm down, still longer to figure out if anyone had been badly hurt.

Danielle and Jake seemed to be all right. Both of them felt achy, but neither had broken any bones.

Flash, too, was unharmed. He jumped frantically from the cargo area to the backseat, then back again, over and over, and sometimes he stopped to lick Jake away but realized with a surge of delight that at least one member of the family seemed entirely unhurt.

The situation with Mom and Dad was something else altogether.

Mom had slammed her legs against the underside of the dashboard, hurting her knees. She kept saying, "It's okay, it's okay," but Danielle knew better. Tears came to Mom's eyes every time she moved. Even the heavy cloth of her slacks couldn't hide the swelling that grew worse and worse with each passing minute.

But Dad seemed far more seriously injured than anyone else. He looked okay–no cuts or bruises–yet something was clearly wrong. Even the slightest move caused him great pain. He couldn't even catch his breath without tensing up and squeezing his eyes shut. He kept his arms crossed over his chest as if to protect himself from an attack he expected at any moment.

"What is it?" Danielle asked him, forcing her head and shoulders through the space between the two front seats. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing!" he said through clenched teeth. "I'm–just–fine!"

"Is it your heart?" She felt terrified he might be having a heart attack.

"No! I'm–fine!"



"Dad, tell me. You have to tell me."

He shot her a sideways glance.

"You can't pretend nothing's wrong," she said.

Dad forced a smile.

Danielle felt furious at him when she saw that smile. He'd pretended from the start that nothing was wrong; that's what had gotten them in this whole mess to begin with. "It's not fair to us," she told him. "At least if we know what's wrong we can do something. "

To her amazement, Danielle saw Dad's eyes well up with tears. He didn't cry, but seeing him get that close was something she'd never experienced before.

"Tell me what's wrong," Danielle said.

"Ribs."

"Broken ribs?"

Dad shook his head. "Nah–just–just banged 'em up a–" He clenched his teeth as he spoke the final word: "bit." Even the effort of talking left his whole face pinched tight as a fist.

For a while–Danielle wasn't sure how long–everyone just sat there. No one moved much. No one even talked. Maybe they were too scared to talk. Maybe they were all trying to figure out what would happen next. She didn't like the silence but somehow understood that everyone needed it.

Danielle looked out the window on her left. She saw nothing there but dim light and, accumulating on the outer edge of the car door, a rim of snow. Then her vision shifted and the glass became a mirror. She saw her own face there: dark brown hair, welltanned skin, and fearful eyes staring back at her. The fear in those eyes made her look away, but not till Danielle had seen her brother's reflection in the window, too.

She turned to Jake. "You okay?" Danielle asked him.

He shrugged. She was used to seeing him shrug a lot–Jake thought shrugging made him look cool– but Danielle could tell he was worried.

"You sure?" she asked.

"I guess so," he said without meeting her gaze.

"You don't look so sure."

"I'm okay. Sore, that's all."

"Fine. Just checking."

Jake didn't say anything for a while. Both he and Danielle listened as Mom and Dad spoke in low voices up front.

"–as soon as–possible–"

"–question is how–"

"All right, all right–"

"–so what are you suggesting?"

They went on like this for a long time. Danielle couldn't hear them clearly but didn't need to. She knew that they were trying to figure out what to do next. It troubled her that they couldn't seem to agree. Then again, that didn't surprise her. How could they know? They were all in the middle of nowhere, in the dark, in a blizzard.

How could anyone know what to do?