Calm down, Summer. It was her minister father’s voice, soothing her as a little girl when she’d become hysterical about her mother dying. Let’s sing. And then he’d launch into “Amazing Grace” or “How Great Thou Art” and the well-worn words would comfort her.

  But it had been a long time since she’d sung a hymn. The song that came to her now was not the music of a hymn, but the holiday tune “Over the River and Through the Woods.”

  Over the debris and through the wires, she sang to herself in her head, through Raven Hut Lodge we crawl. To find the living and not the dead, even without a helmet on head . . . What rhymed with crawl? Trying not to bawl?

  She reached the green. It was Nicole’s jacket, or at least a jacket like Nicole’s, wrapped around the back of a fallen chair and tangled in wires beneath a section of heating duct.

  “Nicole?” she murmured into the blackness.

  “Here!” The voice startled her. But it was a man’s voice, not Nicole’s.

  Ahead, barely visible through the debris, a hand moved. She pulled the headlamp from her collar and focused the beam in that direction. A bloody face blinked at her from the shadows. “Jerry?” she asked, remembering baby Emma’s father.

  “Daniel.” Not a man, but a boy. Sixteen, seventeen. He was shivering, pinned face down on a broken table, held in place by what appeared to be a section of wall. Sam couldn’t see what topped the wood and drywall structure. Everything above was solid black.

  “Can you breathe?” she asked.

  “So far.” A whine escaped as he exhaled heavily. “Barely. I think my shoulder’s dislocated, and I can’t feel my legs.”

  Sam rolled over onto her back and pushed at the wall section on top of him. She couldn’t budge it, and she was afraid to try harder, lest she dislodge whatever was keeping him from being crushed. “We’re going to get you out, . . .”

  “Daniel,” he reminded her. “There were two others, down by my feet. A man and a woman. They were talking, but I can’t hear them anymore. I hope they’re not dead.”

  Sam gulped. Chase and Nicole? “I’m going to see if I can reach them. Hang in there, Daniel.”

  “Like I have a choice,” he mumbled, his voice grim.

  She elbowed her way forward around a section of heating duct, moving in the direction of Daniel’s feet.

  We’re going to get you out? How could she have promised the kid that? She wasn’t even sure she could get herself out.

  Chapter 23

  As the WTA bus cruised slowly toward Sam’s neighborhood, Maya anxiously checked her cell phone. There was no response from Blake or Sam. It was dark; they couldn’t still be on the mountain, could they? Probably eating out, having a good time. Typical. Nobody thought about her and her problems anymore. She tried calling Eaze. He responded with a text, an emoji hand with the middle finger raised.

  When the bus finally slowed at her stop, she leaped off and ran the half mile to Sam’s cabin, panting by the time she arrived, clutching at the stitch in her side. A year ago, she’d hiked for miles in the mountains, carrying a heavy backpack every day. What the hell had she done to get so out of shape?

  She was relieved to see lights on inside the cabin. Maybe Sam or Blake or both were home, after all. But as she approached, she didn’t see Sam’s RAV4. Blake’s old beater was there, but Claude’s BMW was not. Crouched in the space behind Blake’s Honda was James Winnow’s car.

  Light spilling from the cabin windows revealed her tent in the backyard, slumped like an injured animal, its spine pole caved in. Her sleeping bag lay stretched between two blueberry bushes, stuffing leaking out of the rips torn into its covering. She bit her lip. Now she didn’t even own enough to call herself a bag lady.

  She peered into James’s car. On the passenger seat was her laptop. She quietly opened the door and removed the computer, tucking it into the space under the wooden steps that led to the back door. The window next to the steps, the one in the utility room, was broken. Twisting the door knob, she pushed her way inside.

  The overhead light was on in the living room. As she watched from the doorway of the utility room, James aimed a kick at the television screen sitting on the console. It crashed to the floor. “Piece of shit,” he growled.

  Maya stepped back into the shadows and texted 9-1-1, typing break-in and Sam’s address. She quickly put the phone on silent mode and shoved it into her jacket pocket.

  In the living room, James was still raging, shouting a long string of obscenities. Turning to Eaze, who stood behind the kitchen counter, he asked, “Who doesn’t have a single piece of crap worth stealing? I only found sixty-five dollars in the bedroom! How you gonna pay the rest?”

  “I’ll think of something.” Eaze took a drag from the beer can in his hand, and tossed another in James’s direction. “Chill.”

  Maya no longer recognized her boyfriend. Why was he doing this? He was a monster. What would he do to her next? What would James? She didn’t want to be here. But she couldn’t let this happen to Sam and Blake.

  Her head aching with fury and her heart pounding with fear, she stepped out from the shadows. “I told you that Sam and Blake were not rich.”

  “Well, well, it’s the bitch from hell.” James’s face twisted in rage. “Your fuckin’ friends ain’t even poor. They got nothin’!”

  “They have everything any good person needs.” Sam and Blake had friends and a home and a decent life. And they were respected and trusted. Maya strode toward the kitchen. Both men followed her movements like a hungry cougar tracking a deer.

  Leaning against the kitchen counter, she jerked her chin at the beer in front of Eaze. “Got one of those for me?”

  When Eaze turned to open the refrigerator door, she surreptitiously slipped a knife from the block behind her back.

  Eaze shut the refrigerator. “Sorry, no more.”

  “That’s okay,” she told him. “No worries.”

  “Now you want to make nice?” James snarled, moving in her direction.

  “No.” Maya spat out the word. “Now I want you to leave.”

  “We could both do her.” James’s focus on her was as intense and impersonal as a snake’s. “You hold her down. I’ll go first.”

  A trill of fear rattled down Maya’s spine. “I called the cops.”

  James grinned. “Yeah, right, like a slut’s gonna do that.” To Eaze, he said, “Get her now.”

  Eaze licked his lips. “Maya.” He crushed his empty beer can in one hand, tossed it on the floor, and then took a step toward her.

  She tried to back up, but her backside was already pressed against the counter. She gripped the knife handle behind her back. “Don’t touch me, either of you. The cops will be here any second.”

  “Maya,” Eaze murmured again. Which could have meant anything from “I’m sorry” to “Just do as I say.” He pulled his gun from his jacket pocket.

  She cringed. Coming from Eaze’s lips at this moment, her name clearly didn’t mean “I love you.”

  Simon chose that moment to rocket from Sam’s bedroom through the living room, a black-and-white streak that startled them all. The cat danced by the front door, clearly desperate to get out. He yowled his request.

  “I hate that fuckin’ cat.” Eaze aimed his pistol in the cat’s direction.

  Maya stabbed the knife into Eaze’s shoulder just as the gun went off. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Simon rise up in the air and then shoot off into the utility room. Blood spattered the door where he’d stood.

  Through the ringing in her ears, she heard the faint sound of a siren.

  James and Eaze heard it, too. They frowned at each other and then both ran toward the door, the knife still buried in Eaze’s shoulder.

  “Fuck you, girl!” James hurled his beer can in her direction. It smashed into the kitchen cabinet behind her.

  Maya sank to the floor, her heart beating wildly. Cold evening air gusted in from the open front door. After she was sure she wasn’t going to throw up, she pushed herself to her feet, walked over, and after peering out to be sure they were gone, she closed the door.

  She stumbled over a heavy object, and it skidded across the floor toward the refrigerator. The pistol. Eaze must have dropped it when she’d stabbed him. She gingerly picked it up with her thumb and index finger, holding it at arm’s length by the grip, then walked quickly to the utility room and stashed it inside the washing machine. She might need it if James and Eaze came back.

  Simon was not in the utility room. An ominous splash of blood streaked the dryer lid next to the broken window.

  Opening the back door, she called him. “Simon! Come here, kitty, kitty!”

  There was no response. Was the cat dying under a bush somewhere in the dark? Sam would never forgive her. Shit, she’d never forgive herself. She didn’t deserve to be forgiven.

  Flickering blue and red lights strobed across the yard, and then the police were banging on the front door.

  Chapter 24

  When she saw black and white ahead—the black of Chase’s ski pants and the white of Nicole’s turtleneck—Sam’s anxiety clotted into a lump in her throat. She wasn’t certain whether the tears streaming down her face were due to relief at finding them, horror that they were trapped in this disaster, or a mixture of both.

  Nicole was wrapped half around Chase, her head on his shoulder, as they both laid on the ground, imprisoned by debris. Nicole’s legs were hidden under a table that rested on them, and Chase’s legs were tangled in broken chairs. Pieces of lumber and furniture and sheetrock pressed in from all sides, pinning them in place.

  Snaking through the debris as carefully as possible, Sam used her elbows to drag herself close. “Chase! Nicole!”

  Nicole opened her eyes and lifted her head an inch. “Summer,” she stuttered, her teeth chattering. “So cold.” Her head collapsed back onto Chase’s shoulder. Blood, partially dried now, streaked the FBI agent’s auburn hair and painted her face and sweater, dribbling from a large fragment of glass embedded in her scalp.

  “Chase!” Sam stretched her arms over a chair seat to pull on the sleeve of his sweater. His eyes remained closed. Unlike Nicole, he didn’t seem to be shivering, although neither one of them was wearing a jacket. The lack of shivering was a really bad sign. Sam pulled off her leather glove and laid a hand against his cheek. “Chase!”

  His eyelids fluttered, and then his lips moved. “Summer,” he sighed. Then his body went slack again.

  “Chase, I’m here.”

  When there was no response, she felt like an idiot for saying that. Like she could rescue him just by being here. Like she could heal him with her presence. She couldn’t see any wounds. Gingerly, she slid her hand beneath his head. Chase made a slight “unh” sound. To her cold fingers, his skin felt lukewarm. After slipping her hand back out, she examined it. No blood. Pulling the headlamp from beside her neck, she carefully thumbed up one of his eyelids and shone the light into his eye. The iris had nearly vanished into the top of his eye socket, but she thought his eyeball moved slightly. Whatever that meant.

  “Chase!” Releasing his eyelid, she rubbed his cheek. “Where are you hurt?”

  Nicole moaned again. “So cold.”

  “Nicole, what happened to Chase?”

  “Slammed.” Her speech was slurred.

  Sam pulled a metallic rescue blanket from her pockets, popped its tiny plastic package, and spread it over Chase, tucking it in around the edges of his body as best she could. “Slammed” could mean almost anything. He might have broken vertebrae. He could be bleeding internally. Lungs, liver, kidneys, spleen, intestines. Chase might be dying.

  Do something, her brain screamed. No, wait. Analyze the situation. She studied Chase’s former partner. “And you, Nicole?”

  “New . . . hair . . . style. Like it?”

  The woman’s lips were tinged with blue. Even hypothermic, Nicole remained a smartass. Sam had to admire her for that. Reaching over Chase, she stretched another rescue blanket out over her, and though her hands were trembling, Nicole was able to tuck it under her chin and around her own torso.

  Taking the last remaining packet from her pocket, Sam crawled toward the feet she saw nearby. “Daniel, I’m going to cover you as much as I can with an emergency blanket to keep your body heat in.”

  She could only reach up to his knees, but she tucked the metallic fabric around his feet and wedged it beneath the plywood and boards resting on top of the boy.

  “Thanks, man.”

  His gratitude brought a sob to her lips. She covered her mouth with her gloved hand.

  Go, she told herself. Now. She maneuvered her body into a nearby area where there was space enough here to sit upright, a narrow column among the stacks of debris. Her entire body was cramped with pain. Too much time constricted into unnatural positions. Sam straightened her shoulders and leaned her head back, examining the layers above her. Was that snow she could see overhead? A patch of sky between the shattered layers?

  She moved the flashlight beam over the area above. In the lowest layer, she saw broken sheetrock and wood paneling—maybe a wall, maybe part of the ceiling. The paneling seemed to be mostly held in place by a tall metal shelving unit in front of her, and cabinets off to the left. A microwave stood on end a short distance away. This had probably been some sort of storeroom or prep area next to the kitchen.

  A low moan seemed to be coming from beneath her. That wasn’t possible, was it? She hoped she was imagining the sound.

  Swaths of pink fiberglass insulation dangled overhead, dripping moisture into the corner where the shelves and cabinets met. Cedar shingles spilled down from the top of ragged-edged plywood. A streamer of tar paper fluttered in a puff of cold air that whistled in from above.

  She was reasonably sure she was looking at the collapsed roof. A flurry of snow gusted in. After crawling through the dust containing God knows what, Sam was grateful for fresh air. But this frigid vertical wind tunnel was doing no favor for the people trapped here.

  Sam checked her watch. She’d been inside this time for seventy minutes. Was that the rumble of an engine she heard, or just the roar of her blood in her ears? She might be able to crawl back the way she’d come, but that would take a while and even if someone could follow her route back here, they still wouldn’t be able to get the victims out.

  She heard the moan again. Or was it a groan of the settling wreckage all around her? Was the building moving again?

  The panic enveloping her made it hard to formulate any sort of plan. She forced herself to close her eyes and slowly inhale, exhale, then do it again. What were the alternatives?

  Did she dare try to claw her way through the layers to the top, like a mole surfacing for air? Or would that bring the remaining structure down on top of Chase, Nicole, and Daniel? Were they all going to die anyway?

  Her shoulder and ribs shrieked. Her face burned, rubbed raw by snow and tree bark. She was so tired. This day would not end. Through the gap above, she could see a single star. So maybe the snow had stopped. The way up promised a potential way out.

  “Nicole, I’m climbing up. I’m going for help.”

  “Hhh..ur..ry.”

  Sam crawled again to Chase, and pressed her lips to his ice-cold mouth. She fought the desire to wrap herself around him.

  “Chase, you cannot die,” she murmured. “You hear me?” She laid her hand on his cheek. “You will not die.”

  No response. If he and Nicole and others were to have any chance, she had to go now. Addressing the feet behind her, she said, “Daniel, hang on. I’m going for help.”

  She wanted to add Forgive me if I kill you, but didn’t think that would be inspirational to anyone, including herself.

  Pushing herself to her feet, she crab-walked, hunched over, beneath the overhang of paneling, moving as far sideways as she could, her right hand following the metal shelves, her left pushing against the obstacle overhead. In the gap in the corner, she could stick her head through. The metallic shade of a broken ceiling light, still attached to a length of chain, glittered in the beam of her flashlight. She used a gloved hand to sweep glass shards away from paneling. Higher up, mammoth wooden beams crisscrossed at crazy angles, like the frame of a giant teepee. Snow swirled down into her face.

  Now or never, Westin. Sliding her foot onto a shelf, she pulled herself up, using the edge of the shelving unit. The shelf held. She climbed up three more shelves, wedging her shoulders through the opening above, nudging a couple of bags of coffee out of her way as she ascended. She scraped her forehead against a splintered edge of plywood, then twisted around, tested an elbow on top of the plywood layer. It sank an inch, making her gasp, but then stopped in place.

  So far, so good. She stepped up the shelves, pushing herself through the plywood layer, holding gingerly onto the edges of sheetrock and plywood, trying not to put too much weight on them. She spied a pale object at the end of the shelving unit. Was that a human hand?

  She sidestepped in that direction until she could peer around the edge of the metal shelves. The object was indeed a human hand, bent at the wrist in an unnatural angle. The arm vanished into a tangle of debris, and it took her brain a moment to recognize the shape. The body, that of a man, was upside down, smashed between a massive upended countertop and the shelves. She couldn’t see his head.

  “Jerry?” That was the name the woman outside had been screaming. Sam made herself touch his fingers. They were unnaturally white. And ice-cold. She pulled back her hand in horror. Nothing could be done for that poor soul. Taking a deep breath, she continued her climb.

  When her feet were finally on top of the shelving unit, she found herself wedged into a narrow tunnel, strands of itchy fiberglass dangling against her neck. The crisscrossed timbers loomed overhead, and beyond that, a final layer of ceiling materials and shingles before an opening to the sky.

  She couldn’t quite reach the beams above. Every muscle in her body tensed, and she stepped onto a canted sheet of broken paneling. It issued a cracking sound beneath her feet.