“Po po,” Jamey said.

And when I still didn’t get it.

“It’s the sheriff, Wil.”

I snapped my attention back to the road. We had returned to the highway well before the tunnel. The back roads were too bad, and hardly anybody was driving even on the main routes anymore.

But here were flashing lights. So strange in the white air, in the drab loneliness of the landscape. Here was the law, waiting in a dip of the road, in the middle of the path before us, blocking our way.

It was a sedan—older, dented, but what car wasn’t dented anymore—startling in its gray paint, its red sheriff star. The lights on top still worked. They swept bright across the colorless road, blue and red over the snow.

The law. What were they doing, why had they stopped us? And where had they been all this time, through all these broken windows and burned houses and looted gas stations? And a dead man? I slowed down.

I felt ordinary fear, fear from before the lost spring. It took me a moment to recognize what it was, to remember it. Such a jolt. It took me back. Flashing lights meant trouble. Meant stop. Meant don’t get caught, don’t give anything away, don’t say your real name.

Sarah. You’re Sarah.

Maybe they’ll take your stepdaddy.

A man stood outside the sheriff’s car. He held a rifle behind his head like a lamb. That didn’t seem right. Then he set the rifle to the side, leaning it against the car, to throw something onto the road. It unrolled before us—a magician’s trick—becoming a carpet, silver and barbed.

A spike strip, glinting in the snow.

I slid the truck into Park. We weren’t going anywhere. At least not forward. One move and I would shred the tires. The man picked up the gun again.

“What the hell?” I asked.

“That ain’t no cop,” Jamey said.

The man with the rifle began to walk toward us. I kept my hands clearly visible on the wheel. I had the heaviness in my pocket.

Jamey was staring through the windshield. “That’s Jake’s man. He’s got somebody in the car with him.” Her voice had turned to ice water. I felt it flood through my own body. “It’s him. I can see him. It’s Jake in the car.”

“What is his obsession with you?” I said. “To track us this far?”

“It ain’t me,” Jamey said. She turned to look at me. Her eyes held a familiar panic. I had seen it before, in my mama’s eyes. My mama telling me to hide, he’s coming. Telling me to be quiet, be still, be good. He’s coming.

“It’s Starla,” Jamey said. “She’s Jake’s daughter.”