“Snowplow,” Younger muttered, and Jake saw a big lumbering plow up ahead, its lights flashing. Younger settled in a respectful distance behind it and slowed to its pace. “Like a police escort,” he muttered.

Jake felt antsy, though, wondering if Glynis had made it to Leeds’s place and—if she had—what was happening to her.

After about half an hour the plow turned off at an exit ramp and they had to drive through steadily heavier snow. Younger kept their speed around fifty, pushing ahead steadily. Jake saw a semi rig jackknifed on the shoulder of the median, its end projecting into the left lane.

“That’s the asshole who zipped past us,” Younger said. “Serves him frigging right.”

“I didn’t see the driver,” Jake said. “I wonder if he’s okay.”

“Call the highway patrol, let them worry about it.”

Jake pulled his cell phone from his ridiculous blue embroidered coat, but the screen said NO SERVICE.

“Cell towers must be down,” he said.

“Or we’re in an area with no service,” Younger replied.

Then the roadside lights winked out. All of them. They were plunged into complete darkness, except for the Land Rover’s headlights.

“Jesus Christ,” Younger snapped. “Must be a blackout.”

Without hesitating, Jake clicked on the dashboard radio. “… getting reports from across the state of a rolling blackout. Electrical power has gone off here in the capital, and as far east as Vernon. Adjoining states are reporting blackouts, as well, and we expect a statement from the state’s utility board in a few minutes.”

“Just what we need,” Jake moaned.

Younger shook his head. “If the frigging phones worked I could get the guys in Lignite to fire up the big rig. Produce enough power to keep that half of the state alight.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“If the cell phones worked.”

“Yeah.”

They drove on in dismal silence. The snow was too thick for Jake to make out the roadside signs. He hoped he had given the GPS system the right coordinates for the lakeside lodge.

Younger chuckled grimly. “Are we there yet?”

“Damned if I know,” Jake admitted.

Then the female voice from the GPS said in its calm dulcet tone, “In point five mile, turn right onto exit ramp.”

“We’re almost there!” both men said in unison.

The side road was covered with several inches of snow but Younger doggedly mushed the Land Rover through. He nearly missed a turn and plowed into a drift. Cursing, he threw the transmission into reverse and rocked the SUV out of the piled-up snow. There were no lights anywhere, except for their headlamps. Younger drove slowly, cautiously, inching along the twisting road, careful not to slide off into another drift.

At last the headlights picked up a glint, a reflection off a window. Squinting into the wind-whipped snow, Jake barely made out the low silhouette of the lodge’s roofline against the lighter background of the lake.