Brecken returns to his shovel.

“Are you nuts?” I ask. “I’m telling you there are people, like a few football fields away! We can do this. Come look!”

But they don’t. And why would they? A shiver runs up my spine, and the snow isn’t to blame. Because I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to get help at this point. Unless they don’t want us to get home.

“Mira, I’m going to help him get started.” Harper’s smile is even more patronizing than her tone. “But then I’ll come look, okay? Don’t worry.”

“The houses are not that far,” I say softly.

Josh looks down at his brace, and then his jaw tightens. He meets my eyes. “I’m going to go look.”

“Your brace will get wet.”

“Then it will get wet,” he says. “If you think this is the way…”

“I do,” I say. I touch his sleeve. “I’m going to grab my gloves and then I’m going down. If you can’t do the slope, don’t worry. I will get help up here. I won’t leave you.”

“I’m going to go check it out,” he says.

I’m not sure he’ll be able to get through the snow in that brace, and I’m definitely sure he won’t be able to descend the mountain, but I nod, watching as he picks his way across. He’s painfully slow and awkward, but I don’t argue, because I feel better with the idea of having him up there. If I fall, at least someone will see.

I consider telling the other three, but decide to grab my gloves instead. I’m not letting Brecken and Harper talk me out of this. I’m going. They can stay and dig down to bedrock for all I care.

I pull the trunk of the SUV open and drag my bag closer. The latch flops open and it spills. I swear, this damn latch.

I swipe at the tangle of toiletry bags and clothes that tumbled out. Something else fell out, too. A large yellow padded mailer.

It isn’t mine.

It isn’t mine, but when I flip it over, I find my name scrawled across the front of the envelope in neat, sloping black letters.

I frown, pulling open the flap. There is a thick stack of smaller envelopes and a single sheet of thick, buttery soft paper on top. Perfectly organized. Dread fills my stomach, a cold, hard ball beneath my ribs. There should not be an envelope with my name on it. But there is.