Page 6 of Whiteout

“Nothing to fret about, princess.” Easing the Raptor around her stranded Miata, Sinjin chuckled. “Hang on. Enjoy the ride.”

A handle protruded from the interior beside her for exactly that purpose. Holding onto it with both hands, she side-eyed him. He appeared unruffled, but the precariousness of their predicament was palpable, at least to her. Breanna wanted to ask him just how in the fuck he could see where he was going. She didn’t dare break his focus.

Sitting tall in his seat, Sinjin commanded the vehicle. The road she couldn’t discern. Maybe it was familiarity with the mountain or the surround-view camera images on the screen that guided him, but after ten minutes that felt like ten hours, with the storm intensifying, he turned left off the pass.

Under the cover of the pine, visibility improved a little. Breanna could make out shapes, anyway. Sinjin chanced a glance at her. “You only missed it by a hundred feet.”

“No fucking way. This is where I was supposed to turn?”

“And the princess has a potty mouth.”

She didn’t believe for a second that he was offended and didn’t give a damn if he was. “It’s a versatile word.”

He snorted.

“How much farther?” Breanna inquired.

“We’ve got a ways yet.”

It had taken them ten minutes to go a measly hundred feet. She didn’t know how far “a ways” meant—one mile? Two? Hell, at this rate, it could be hours before they got there.

Sinjin picked up the pace somewhat, but the grade was steep, and their progress slow. She could make out tall, menacing formations on either side. Trees, Breanna. They’re just trees. But bending back and forth, branches looked like arms, eerily waving, as if beckoning them.

“Fuck.”

“Guess I’m not the only one with a potty mouth,” she said, turning her face from the window to look at him. The truck came to a halt. Sinjin engaged the parking brake. “What’s wrong? Why’d you stop?”

“We’ve got a problem.”

Breanna followed his gaze to a fallen pine blocking their way. “This cannot be happening. Can we get around it?”

“On foot.” He glanced down at her duffel. “You got a warmer jacket in there?”

“Why?”

“You’re gonna need it.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind? You said we had a ways to go yet.” Emphatically shaking her head, Breanna snapped, “We’ll die out there!”

“Would you rather die in here?” Reaching into the seat behind him, Sinjin tossed her a blanket. “Wrap this around you.”

“You can’t be serious.”

But apparently, he was. Throwing the truck in reverse, he made a three-point turn. Backtracking for a while, he suddenly veered off to the right, maneuvering the truck through the swaying pines. Until he couldn’t. Sinjin shut off the engine. He turned toward her then, head cocked, his commanding expression silencing any further dissent.

Looking away from him, Breanna bundled herself in a beanie of knitted wool, scarf, and gloves. Reaching down to the floorboard, she pulled her duffel bag onto her lap.

“Leave it.”

“But I need my stuff.”

“Listen, you don’t need no books, or ballgowns, or whatever the fuck you’ve got in there, where we’re going. It’s gonna be hard enough just walking in this shit.” He placed the blanket around her shoulders. Tying the ends together tight, his features softened. “Leave it.”

With a nod, she licked her lips. “Okay.”

“There’s a cabin, maybe a couple hundred yards from here,” Sinjin informed her, rifling through the contents of the truck’s console. He pulled out a bungee cord. “This’ll have to do.”

Breanna swallowed. “What’s that for?”

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