Behind the wheel of the Pathfinder, Belaski checks the rear-view mirror. Anthony is seated in back, the kid's eyes fixed on a spot six inches in front of his face.
So far, he hasn’t asked questions.
Lauren De Luca’s silent in the front passenger seat.
Belaski focuses on the trail—already it’s worse than it was coming up. Beneath the cover of the pines it’s drivable. But where the trees thin, snow has drifted, it’s piled deep.
He steers around a turn in the logging road—light streaking through the canopy of branches. The road is headed out onto open ground, now. He snorts air through his nostrils. A bloom of heat spreads inside.
Last thing to do is bog down.
Momentum. Put on more speed.
In the back seat, Anthony clears his throat. “Is it alright to ask where we're going?”
“Right now, the number one priority is getting out of these hills.” Belaski glances up in the rear-view. “We need to get back on the road network.”
The young man nods.
“I have to check in with my boss—there’ll be a couple of safe houses or locales we can use. It's his call, not mine.”
They’ll wait till they’re alone, Belaski tells himself—wait before they try to speak; he won’t give them that chance.
“We’ll be okay,” he says, “just do what I tell you to do.” He flexes his grip on the wheel, eases his foot down on the gas.
The SUV breaks from the tree line—plowing into exposed space.
Snow shoots from beneath the fenders, they’re slowing—Belaski feels it, he pushes down harder on the throttle pedal.
He grips the wheel. The Nissan bucks and squirms, tires biting, slipping, biting again.
A little fast.
They’re almost through the clearing, pine trees closing back in.
Beneath the canopy, the logging road drops in a steep descent, he remembers struggling to get up it.
Their speed is high, the track cambered, canted sideways—the road distorted, as if the land beneath has slipped.
Too fast—they're headed down too fast.
He whips his foot off the gas, feels his stomach lurch, feels the wheels break loose in the snow.
Touching a foot on the brakes he feels the Nissan snap sideways. Belaski turns the wheel, the edge of the road rushes—trunks of pine accelerating from the gloom.
He stomps the gas, “Fuck...” tries to power out of the slide.
They hit the edge—for a split second the motor roars in mid-air.
Lauren screams, her arms come up.
Glass and pine explode inside the cab.
A low branch punches out a window, a sickening impact.
Before the white world switches black.