“Don’t move!” She slips her arms through the straps of her rifle and slings it onto her back. Looks like Brent guessed right. She wants him the most, so she doesn’t want to risk his getting away. Or maybe it’s simpler than that. She knows I won’t get far with a blown knee, so she’ll take Brent out first, then return for me and Curtis.

She grips one long ski stick in either hand and pushes off uphill, arms and legs working in tandem. Her rapid acceleration horrifies me. She has disappeared into the fog already. I feel sick. Brent won’t stand a chance.

I try to close my ears to the sound of a rifle shot that will surely follow. Curtis stares blankly into the whiteout.

I hear Brent’s final words. Don’t waste it.

I grip Curtis’s arm. “Curtis. Run.”

No response. I shake him. “Curtis. I need you.”

Slowly, his head turns. I see the effort it takes him to bring himself out of it.

“We need our boards,” I say.

“Can you ride?” Curtis asks.

“I have to.”

He takes my arm and we hurry down the slope. I clamp my lips shut, trying to blank out the pain. Any minute now I’m going to hear that rifle. I speed up my pace.

The dark shape of the Panorama building looms through the fog.

“Wait here,” Curtis says. “I’ll grab our boards.”

He’s back a few seconds later, with our boards and jackets. We pull our jackets on, but it’s no use putting the boards on yet. We need to get across the flat to where the trail down begins. Curtis puts his arm around my waist, supporting me, and we run as best as we can through foot-deep powder along the cliff top.

My lungs strain for oxygen. “The crevasse,” I gasp.

“We’ll go round it.”

And hope there aren’t more.

I’m still waiting for a rifle shot. “I don’t think she wants to shoot us.”

“Why not?” Curtis says.

Snowflakes blow into my mouth every time I open it. “She’d rather get us . . . in the crevasse.” I pant for breath. “So it looks like an accident.”

“Faster,” Curtis says.

The whiteout takes a gray tinge. I’m close to blacking out, but Curtis is taking half my weight and he’s still running, so I keep running, too.

I don’t know if I’ve ever pushed myself this hard. From memory, we’ve nearly made it across the flat.

A rifle shot rings out. And another. And another. Brent. My stomach wrenches; my legs nearly collapse beneath me.

Curtis’s arm tightens around my back. “Keep running.”

Tears spring from my eyes, pooling inside my goggles. I can’t stop caring, Milla.

And he really did. Still. He just proved it.

And I actually thought you cared about me, too.