A branch smacked her in the face. She kept going, crawling on the side of the bus until she reached the hillside, which had been scraped and scarred by the plunging vehicle; black dirt and broken branches and exposed roots.

She launched herself forward, flailed for a higher foothold, climbed up the hillside.

It seemed to take forever. Clawing, clinging, hauling herself upward, breathing hard, sucking in snow. But finally she made it. She threw herself over the edge and landed facedown in the snow, on the road. Gasping, she climbed onto all fours and got to her feet.

Whiteout. Her headlamp threw out a razor-thin glow. Wind tried to shove her off the road as she started her trek. Trees shuddered all around her, bent and cracked. Branches flew past her, scraping the torn ground. One hit her hard in the side, almost knocked her over.

The light was her lifeline out here. Her chest began to ache from the frigid air she was breathing in, a stitch formed in her side. Sweat slid down her back and turned her hands clammy inside her gloves.

She had no idea how long she’d been trudging forward, trying not to stop or cry or scream, when she saw the silver gate up ahead, and the cow skull on it, wearing a bowler of snow.

Leni dragged the gate open, over the bumpy ground, bulldozing snow aside.

She wanted to run forward, scream Help! but she knew better. Running could be mistake number two. Instead, she trudged through the knee-high snow. The forest on her right blocked some of the wind.

It took at least fifteen minutes to get to the Walker house. As she neared it, saw light in the windows, she felt the sting of tears—tears that froze in the corners of her eyes, hurting, blurring her vision.

All at once the wind died; the world drew in a quiet breath, leaving a near-perfect silence, broken only by her ragged breathing and the distant purr of the waves on a frozen shore.

She stumbled past the snow-covered heaps of junk and old cars and past the beehives. At her approach, cows began lowing, stomping their hooves as they herded together in case she was a predator. Goats bleated.

Leni went up the ice-slick steps and pounded on the front door.

Mr. Walker answered quickly, opened the door. When he saw Leni, his face changed. “Jesus.” He pulled her into the house, through the arctic entry lined with coats and hats and boots, and to the woodstove.

Her teeth were chattering so hard she was afraid she’d bite off her tongue if she tried to talk, but she had to.

“W-w-we cr-crashed th-the b-b-bus. M-Mama’s stuck.”

“Where?”

She couldn’t stop her tears now, or her shaking. “By the b-bend in the road before Large Marge’s p-place.”