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.”

Mr. Walker nodded. “Okay.” He left her standing there, shaking and shivering just long enough for him to return in snow gear, carrying a big mesh bag slung over one shoulder.

He went to the ham radio and found an open frequency. Staticky sound crackled through, then a high-pitched squeal. “Large Marge,” he said into a handheld mouthpiece. “Tom Walker here. Car crash near my place on the main road. Need help. On my way. Over.” He lifted his thumb from the button. Static again. Then he repeated the message and hung up the mouthpiece. “Let’s go.”

Could Dad hear that? Was he listening or still passed out?

Leni glanced worriedly outside, half expecting him to materialize.

Mr. Walker grabbed a striped red and yellow and white wool blanket from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around Leni.

“Her arm is broken. She’s bleeding.”

Mr. Walker nodded. Taking Leni’s gloved hand in his own, he pulled her out of the warm house and back out into the frigid cold.

In the garage, his big truck started right up. The heat came on, blanketing the cab, making Leni shiver harder. She couldn’t stop shaking as they drove down the driveway and turned out onto the main road, where wind beat at the windshield and whistled through every crevice in the metal frame.

Tom eased up on the gas; the truck slowed, grumbled, and whined.

“There!” she said, pointing to where they’d gone off the road. As Mr. Walker pulled over to the side, headlights appeared in front of them.

Leni recognized Large Marge’s truck.

“You stay in the truck,” Mr. Walker said.

“No!”

“Stay here.” He grabbed his mesh bag and left the truck, slamming the door behind him.

In the glow of headlights, Leni saw Mr. Walker meet Large Marge in the middle of the road. He dropped his bag, took out some coiled-up rope.

Leni pressed herself to the window, her breath clouding the view. Impatiently she wiped it away.

Mr. Walker tied one end of the rope around a tree and the other end around his own waist in an old-school belay.

With a wave to Large Marge, he lowered himself over the embankment and disappeared.

Leni wrenched the door open and fought the wind, blinded by snow, to cross the road.

Large Marge stood at the edge of the embankment.

Leni peered over the edge, saw broken trees and the bus’s shadowy bulk. She shined her flashlight down but it wasn’t enough light. She heard metal creaking, a thump, and a woman’s scream.

And then … Mr. Walker reappeared in the feeble beam of light, with Mama bound to his side, tied to him.

Large Marge grabbed the rope in her gloved hands, pulled them up, hand over hand, until Mr. Walker stumbled back up onto the road, Mama slumped at his side, unconscious, held up by Mr. Walker’s grip. “She’s in bad shape,” Mr. Walker yelled into the wind. “I’ll take her by boat to the hospital in Homer.”

“What about me?” Leni screamed. They seemed to have forgotten she was there.

Mr. Walker gave Leni one of those you-poor-kid looks Leni knew so well. “You come with me.”

* * *

THE SMALL HOSPITAL waiting room was quiet.

Tom Walker sat beside Leni, his parka puffed up in his lap. First they had driven to Walker Cove, where Mr. Walker had carried Mama down to the dock and placed her gently on the bench seat in his aluminum boat. They had sped around the craggy shoreline to Homer.

At the hospital, Mr. Walker carried Mama up to the front desk. Leni ran along beside, touching Mama’s ankle, her wrist, whatever she could reach.

A Native woman with two long braids sat at the desk, clacking away on a typewriter.

Within moments, a pair of nurses came to take Mama away.

“Now what?” Leni asked.

“Now we wait.”

They sat there, not talking; each breath Leni took felt difficult, as if her lungs had a mind of their own and might stop working. There was so much to be afraid of: Mama’s injury, losing Mama, Dad coming in (Don’t think about that, how mad he will be … what he’ll do when he realizes they were leaving), and the future. How would they leave now?