By the time Chet and I get to town, my clothes are soaked and my nerves frayed. I was wrong before when I thought we got a couple of inches. More like six or seven, and it’s nowhere near done. The snow is a swirling white curtain, turning the world opaque, and even slow going, moving through the snowstorm was like boating blindfolded. Three times I pointed the nose straight at the shore, pulling back on the gas just in time.

The dock appears in a wall of white, and Chet scrambles to throw out the fenders. We hit the wood with a jarring thud, knocking Chet clear off the bench. I clear the lines of water, cut the motor and clamber out on shaky legs.

Chet juts a thumb up the hill, the opposite direction of the office. “I’m going to see if anyone’s out. Want something from the deli?”

“A sandwich would be great. Thanks. Bologna with extra mustard and pickles. Oh, and a strawberry milk over ice. Tell them to put it on the company’s tab.”

He cocks his head at my unusual order, then heads one way while I head the other, a sharp gust of wind chasing me up the hill to town. It whips my coat taut and clears the snow at the top, where I pause to catch my breath. The streets are deserted, an eerie winter wonderland lined with buildings and white lumps the size of parked cars. I spot tracks, both human and car, already filled with several inches of powdery snow.

At Paul’s office, amber light trickles through the glass, the promise of warmth in the subzero air. I push through the door, and Gwen pops off her chair.

“Oh, thank God.” She rushes over, snatches the laptop from Paul’s bag. “T minus forty-nine minutes and counting.”

I sink onto the chair at my desk, watching her fire up the laptop and type in Paul’s password. Laptops around here are communal property, and Paul requires everyone to use the same password, exactly for moments like this one. I see from her expression the moment she finds the files, and then she clicks in an external drive and waits for everything to copy.

“How are you going to submit without Wi-Fi?” The logistics are something I hadn’t thought about earlier, in the stress of getting Paul’s computer across the lake. If Gwen doesn’t have internet to receive the files, she doesn’t have internet to send them, either.

“I called Patrick at the Department of Transportation. He said their satellite can be sketchy in weather like this, but I’m welcome to come down and try. Cross everything, ’cause it’s going to be a Hail Mary pass. Not even postal workers are out in this mess.”

“Thank you for doing this. I know Paul will really appreciate it.”