“I said I’m fine,” she says, tossing a tangle of her pale hair behind her shoulder.

I try not to watch, but her hands are visibly shaking. Like medical-condition or high-fever shaking.

“There’s one on the other side,” Harper says. She looks afraid. Everyone does.

“I see it,” Brecken says, his knuckles white where they grip the steering wheel.

What do they see? What the hell happened while I was sleeping?

I check the other lane, but the snow is blowing hard against the window, making it difficult to see anything at all. We found the storm. We definitely found the storm.

“They’re losing control,” Josh says softly.

Finally, I spot a pair of headlights the others are tracking in the lanes moving the opposite direction. They swing wildly left to right. Then they spin until I can only see one light. Then no lights. Then the taillights as the body of the car comes to a stop facing the wrong direction. My stomach churns.

“I thought this was supposed to be better,” I say, and I instantly regret it.

“This isn’t really a good time for an I-Told-You-So,” Josh says very quietly.

“I’m sorry,” I say, because he’s right.

I can’t imagine being Brecken right now. What little I can see of the road is nothing more than two narrow tire tracks in a sea of white. The incline changes, the SUV shifting to a different gear as we begin to climb.

“I don’t like this,” Brecken says.

“Who does?” Kayla says with that weird manic laugh.

“Somebody look at the downhill on this mountain,” Brecken says. “Check the traffic.”

Harper taps on her phone. “I’m trying. It’s slow.”

“Try harder.”

Harper whirls to him. “Stop barking orders at me! I’m not your secretary.”

Josh makes an annoyed noise, his jaw clenching.

“I can try,” I say, trying to power on my phone.

The SUV shifts again, the incline even steeper. My stomach clenches, an ache blooming in the center of my forehead. Looking at my phone is making me sick again.

“Can you do it?” I ask Josh.

There’s a furrow between his brows. “What’s wrong?”

“My stomach,” I say. “I’m a little carsick. Maybe I shouldn’t look at the phone.”

He nods and takes it, tapping in a few things.

“Don’t bother,” Harper says. “I think we’re over it.”

She’s right. We’re coming over the top of the hill, the road leveling out. The engine shifts again, tires slipping. My stomach rolls and I take a slow breath. It’s just my nerves. I just need to breathe.

“How long do I have until we’re heading down again?” Brecken asks.

“Maybe a mile,” Josh says, eyes lit by my phone screen. “There’s an accident alert.”