I grip the seat as the car’s weight shifts hard to the right, swinging back as the tires straighten. “Stop the car!” Harper shouts.

“Stop.” I mean to back her up, but my voice is a breathless whisper, lost in the roar of the engine and my pounding heart.

“You stole it.” Josh says it flatly, shocked. “You’re just driving away.”

“Calm down.” There isn’t an iota of uncertainty in Brecken’s voice. He accelerates as we begin to pass the gas station. The tires break loose, the car slipping to the right. Kayla’s fear melts into something else, her eyes clouding over. She starts to laugh, and I twist in my seat, my eyes fixed to the gas station windows. They are too cluttered with stickers to see inside. Is there movement?

Am I imagining it?

Maybe he can’t see us through all those posters.

The station door flies open.

My blood runs cold. It’s the father. He’s pulling on his coat, keys already in his hand.

“He’s coming after us!” I say.

“Let him try.” The friendly Brecken from earlier is gone, and I don’t recognize this cold replacement. He is determined to get away with this. “We’ll be long gone.”

“How?” Josh asks. “We can’t get on the highway. The roads are snowy.”

“I can’t do this,” Harper says, breathing hard and fast. “I had a plan. I had a plan and it was working.”

“Calm down,” Brecken says again. “We’re shorting a forty-dollar gas bill. We didn’t light the place on fire.”

“You think that makes this okay?” Her voice is shrill. “This is stealing! Do you think I can afford—” Harper cuts herself off.

I turn around, looking for the guy again. I can’t see him through the snow and pumps and clutter of cars around the lot. And then I do. He climbs inside the cabin of a mean-looking pickup truck just as we cross under I-80, the bridge above leaving us in total darkness for the span of a breath.

We emerge into the waning daylight, and it kicks my voice into gear. “He saw us. He’s already in his truck.”

“High-speed chase in a blizzard!” Kayla cackles, and Josh snaps his fingers, presumedly in front of her face.

“Kayla. Not the best time. You got it?”

Her giggles quiet, but don’t entirely subside. Outside the snow falls in soft, picturesque sheets. Kayla is wrong about the high-speed chase. We’re probably only doing thirty. We can’t go much faster. The road has been plowed once, but it’s still two or three inches deep with snow. Thirty feels way too fast.

“I can’t believe you’d do this,” Harper says, sounding teary.

“I’m trying to help,” Brecken barks.

Behind us, headlights appear. It’s the truck.

“He’s behind us,” I say.