Hank angled the machine onto the shoulder and down through the deeper snow. They hadn’t seen a single vehicle on the road, not even a snowplow, but the wind had more or less swept the tar clean, with the exception of a few heavy drifts. Now, David felt the snowmobile bogging down in the deeper snow, its track spitting out a geyser of white flakes behind them. The engine produced a deeper, louder growl with the increased stress. Might as well broadcast our arrival through a loudspeaker, he thought grimly. But then again, they were still close to a mile away from the plant, and there was no way they had been heard yet. Right now, speed was the most important thing. Every second gives that bastard another chance to hurt them. Or do something worse. He wants me to come after him. That’s true too, isn’t it? I’m the one he wants, the one he sees in his twisted dreams, the one he wants to kill.

He didn’t know why he knew that either, but he did. It was not a reassuring thought.

The going was a little rougher than he expected, and he had to grip tightly to the plastic handgrips down below the seat to keep from being thrown off. The machine dipped, rose, and then Hank gunned the engine, shooting them forward and into the air. David saw the ground a few inches beneath them for a quick second, then they hit hard and he was thrown into Hank’s solid back. They had leapt the edge of the bank and were on the ice. Right now, there was at least six inches of new powder on top, and he was startled at how much had fallen in such a short time. The storm had been raging for the better part of two hours now, and if it kept up at this pace for another two, they might not make it back.

Out on the frozen riverbed, there was more room to maneuver, and Hank gunned the engine, shooting the machine forward to its limit. David wondered at the courage of this man—someone who was risking his life to help a family he hardly knew. He had to be in his fifties, seemed content with the life he led, had no reason to offer anything more than some advice and perhaps a little good luck. And yet he had. Why didn’t you stay at home and keep the couch warm, drink some beer, feel sorry for us and maybe fall asleep with the TV on? Isn’t that what you were supposed to do?

Maybe it was, but David was damn glad he had decided to lend a hand.