Mama started to cry in that quiet way of hers, as if she thought Leni couldn’t tell. As they drove into the trees, she kept glancing in the rearview mirror, wiping her tears away. When they reached the main road, a feral wind clawed at the bus. Mama worked the gas carefully, trying to keep the bus steady on the snow-packed ground.

They passed the Walker gate and kept going.

At the next bend in the road, a gust of wind punched the bus hard enough that they skidded sideways. A broken branch cracked into the windshield, got caught for a second in the wiper, was slammed up and down before it blew away, and revealed a giant bull moose in front of them, crossing the road on a turn.

Leni screamed a warning, but she knew it was too late. They had to either hit the moose or swerve too hard, and hitting an animal of that size would destroy the bus.

Mama turned the steering wheel, eased her foot off the accelerator.

The bus, never good in the snow, began a long, slow pirouette.

Leni saw the moose as they glided past him—his huge head inches from her window, his nostrils flaring.

“Hang on,” Mama screamed.

They hit a berm of snow and flipped over; the bus cartwheeled and plummeted off the road, landing in a screech of metal.

Leni saw it in pieces—trees upside down, a snowy hillside, broken branches.

She cracked her head into the window.

When she regained consciousness, the first thing she noticed was quiet. Then the pain in her head and the taste of blood in her mouth. Her mother was slumped beside her; both of them were in the passenger seat.

“Leni? Are you okay?”

“I … think so.”

She heard a hiss of sound—something gone wrong with the engine—and the whining creak of settling metal.

Mama said, “The bus is lying on its side. I think we’re on solid ground, but there could be farther to fall.”

Another way to die in Alaska. “Will someone find us?”

“No one is going to be out in weather like this.”

“Even if they were, they wouldn’t see us.”

Moving cautiously, Leni felt around for the heavy, clanking backpack, found it, and burrowed through it for a headlamp. Fitting it onto her head, she flicked the switch. The glow was too yellow, otherworldly. Mama looked freakish, her bruised face waxlike and melting.

That was when Leni saw the blood in Mama’s lap and her broken arm. A bone stuck out from a tear in her sleeve.

“Mama! Your arm. Your arm! Oh, my God—”

“Take a breath. Look at it, look good. It’s a broken bone. And not my first.”

Leni tried to settle her panic. She took a deep breath, submerged it. “What do we do?”

Mama unzipped the backpack, began pulling out gloves and neoprene face masks with her good hand.