Careful not to step on him, she climbed out after Bob, her stockinged feet punching holes into the snow. As gently as she could, she rolled him on his side and then straightened the shower curtain under him. After rolling him back, she grabbed the curtain on either side of his head. With a grunt, she walked backward, slowly dragging him away from the house and toward the road.

Here was her dad’s car, covered with a foot of snow. But the keys were back in the burning house or in Joanne’s or Derrick’s pocket.

Hunched over, she dragged Bob past it. Her back was starting to spasm, her fingers to cramp. The snow was as deep as her knees, and her feet were already numb, which was almost a blessing.

The house was nearly engulfed in flames, but the snow should stop it from spreading.

Finally, she reached the road, marked by the tracks of Derrick’s and Joanne’s cars. Her legs were trembling with effort.

If she kept up a steady pace, her feet punching holes through the snow, it wasn’t impossible to slide Bob. Every time she paused, though, she lost momentum. To get started again, she had to lean so far back that she nearly fell over. And her steps were short, each one nearly overlapping the one before.

They had only made it about a hundred yards from the house, and she was exhausted. The sweat on her clothes was turning into ice. They weren’t going to make three miles. They would be lucky to make another three hundred feet. How long until their fingers and toes were frostbitten? How long until they were hypothermic?

How long until they were dead?

She leaned down and touched Bob’s forehead. His eyes opened, but didn’t seem to focus. He was nearly as white as the snow, except for bright red cheeks.

After letting out a sob of frustration, Bridget gritted her teeth, grabbed the curtain’s crinkling edge, and forced herself to keep moving. What choice did she have?

When she’d driven out here the night before last, this stretch had been nothing but darkness. Not another dwelling for miles. The chance that anyone would notice the fire was minuscule.

And then she heard something far off in the distance behind her. Was—was it a motor? She turned.

A blue snowmobile was racing toward her, going so fast it sometimes caught air.

And in the distance behind it was a white SUV, chains around its tires biting into the snow as it bounced and slewed over drifts.

The snowmobile and then the SUV stopped just short of them. As the snowmobiler turned off his machine, people leapt out of the vehicle.