Especially since now, the whiteness had her trapped, like layers of cotton, filmy, suffocating. She could hear the voices, feel the warmth, but couldn’t dig herself out—

I’m here! I’m here—

Now, darkness filtered in like the burned edges of an old-time film.

No! She wasn’t done. And if she didn’t wake up, then they would win.

Sergei and his comrades, the ones who chased her all the way from Seattle, would win. They’d find her, finish her off.

And people would die.

So much for believing that Alaska might be safe.

That here, in the massive expanse of forest, she might hide.

She fought the darkness burning away at her consciousness. No! She didn’t want to sleep—

“It’s up to you.” Another voice, and she knew this one, calm, serious, deadly. Roy—

“It’s up to you or we all die.”

thirteen

Before the sun had fully lit the sky, Echo was up, harnesses in hand.

Granite was jumping around her as she came out of the house, her feet crunching on the snow. The dawn cast over the mountains in a wash of deep pink, the valleys pewter. A cloudless, crisp day. Her breath formed as she went to the barn, refreshed the feed for the goats, then pulled out her old sled, the small one, with just enough room for supplies on the front. She and her father had hand-peeled the boards, made of white ash, molded the brush bow, created the tilt handle for better control on the turns, and bolted it all together. The sled used a standard claw brake, and as she pulled it out, of course Dodge was in her head, riding the ski tails or sitting in the body of the sled as they flew through the white.

“I have somehow managed to survive for years without you, and I will continue to do so in the future.” She was such a liar. But she was a survivor.

She attached the sled to the fence with a quick-release knot.

Then she unraveled the gangline, the long cable that attached the dogs to the sled, and untangled the tug lines that attached to each dog’s harness.

Granite was going berserk beside her, riling up the other dogs who’d emerged from their houses, barking, nipping, jumping on the fence.

“I know, I know. Calm down.” Her head told her that her father was just fine. But she couldn’t help but worry—not just about him, but Peyton too.

Granite nearly leaped into his harness, shoving his snout through the head hole and stepping into the leg openings.

She attached him to the front of the gangline, in the lead position. He held the line taut, his entire body shivering with excitement, barking encouragement to the others.