I know someone is lying. Stealing, too. But how do I know there isn’t more coming? I don’t know anything about these people. I don’t even know who I can rule out. Harper? I don’t think so. I’ve seen a side to her—cold and calculating—that doesn’t match the bubbly girl I sat with on the plane. And whatever’s going on in her family, it’s bad. How do I know she’s not involved in that mess? Easy: I don’t. I can’t dismiss Josh or Kayla, either. Kayla has been out of it the entire trip, and I know there’s a chemical explanation. Addicts are often desperate by nature, and desperate people can do unthinkable things. It would make sense for her to steal items of value, but breaking the chargers? Taking the map? That part doesn’t add up.

Harper called Josh a “nice guy,” but Brecken swears he was responsible for hitting Corey. Maybe he’s right. I’m not sure I could see Josh mowing a kid down, but maybe he’s hiding something darker beneath all the pretentiousness and patronizing comments.

Maybe.

Any of them could be behind this—behind all of this. But my eyes draw back to Brecken and hold. Intense. That’s the first word I thought of to describe him. He’s been champing at the bit to be in charge since we started this trip and when he’s been in charge, terrible things have happened. Yet, somehow he’s managed to end up behind the wheel again.

And he didn’t just hitch this ride—he wanted to rent a car himself. He suggested coming to I-80 as well. The only thing Brecken resisted is stopping at the Cock ’N Bull, which is the one place we might have gotten rescued.

A thought lances through me like a frisson of heat: Where was Brecken when the power went out?

I don’t know.

I stare at the back of his head, at his long thick fingers curled over the steering wheel. My heart thumps, a drumbeat of fear pulsing in the tips of my fingers. I can’t imagine what he’d want from us or what he might plan. But I can’t deny that when I look at him, I’m afraid.

I look around, watching the snow-covered slopes pass by. We’re headed deeper into the mountains. It doesn’t feel like the right way if we’re looking for a gas station or a truck stop—or anything else that might be open.

I straighten in my seat, goose bumps rising on my arms. “Wait, what are we doing right now?”

“Driving,” Brecken says. “Hopefully in a westward direction.”

Josh and I exchange a look. He gives the merest nod, and I feel palpable relief. He sees it, too.