A pair of long, narrow skis and sticks lean against the outside wall. Odette reaches for them, without taking her eyes from us. We huddle together while she clicks her boots into the bindings. My teeth are chattering already. I shoot a look at Curtis and Brent. Should we run? But where? And how far would I get with my knee like this?

Curtis gazes into the whiteout. I need him to snap out of it. I grip his elbow but he doesn’t react. Like me, he wears his goggles and gloves.

Poor Brent has neither. He pulls his hood up and sticks his hands into the pockets of his jeans. His black Burton hoodie stands out a mile against the white background, as does Curtis’s purple fleece. In sea green, I’m no better off.

Odette points across the glacier. “Walk.”

We set off in single file, Brent in front, shielding his face from the falling flakes with a hand, followed by me, then Curtis. I check around me for more traps as I limp—not that I would see them. We’re sinking in up to our knees, so it’s slow going. Pain spirals up my leg with every step.

I glance back at Odette. On skis there’s no trace of her earlier stiffness. Her movements are smooth and fluid, as though the skis are an extension of her legs.

“Where are you taking us?” I call.

She just laughs. If she wants us dead, why doesn’t she just shoot us?

Oh, God. I think I know the answer. If we’re found with bullets in us, they might be able to trace them back to her, but if we’re found in a crevasse, it looks like just another tragic accident.

I wrap my arms around my chest. The wind is cutting straight through my hoodie. I check over my shoulder again. Odette’s keeping a careful distance. We should fight back, but the sight of that rifle terrifies me. She might not want to shoot us, but she will if she has to, and if her aim is as good as she says, she doesn’t need to get close.

Disbelief builds as I walk onward. Every step is taking me closer to my grave. Why don’t I try to fight back? Yet what can I do? Given a choice between being shot in the back if I run and freezing to death in that crevasse if I don’t . . . They say that when you get cold enough, you don’t feel the cold anymore. You feel warm again. And we’d be in there together.

The wind is a constant roar in our ears. She can’t hear us now. Brent walks just ahead of me. I catch him by the sleeve. “She’s leading us to the crevasse,” I whisper.