Ollie’s historic Willys Jeep turned out a better choice than my Tacoma. Renée had been freed and waltzed out the door with Vicky into a dangerous mountain storm. I didn’t want to waste time arguing over driving options. 

The well-kept artifact had the look and feel of an original 1945 CJ-2A and I said so. Ollie corrected me. 

“Forty-two. Willys MB. Found it at an auction.” His gloved hand tapped the steering wheel. “Forged in the fires of W W Two. Love this thing. Nowhere it won’t take me in these mountains.”

Clearly his darling, he’d duct-taped industrial strength plastic to the tarp roof to keep unkind weather out.

Storm clouds roiled and dark, angry sky pelted us with snow. The cold wind sliced through our jackets and the snow stung our faces as we clambered into the small cab. Wind slapped at the loosely attached sides. We rattled out of the police station parking lot onto Highway 93.

Ollie turned off at the Western Building Center. “Mills Spring Road,” he hollered over the engine noise and chatter from the makeshift side panels.

We passed a few farms before turning south. 

I gripped the seat frame and stared ahead.

Ollie had stood in front of us, uniform uncharacteristically wrinkled and untucked, sweat beading on his forehead, assuring us he knew the way to Ksanka Peak. He fidgeted with his belt and avoided eye contact. 

I’d watched Ollie take in the death scene of Deputy Stan Spiesz. He’d stood in stunned silence, unable to process the loss of his fellow officer, a man who appeared to everyone as unflappable and oddly permanent. He’d cowered at the Sheriff’s demands more than a few times. 

This act of bravery could backfire and slide off the mountain like an avalanche.

We rattled onward. The spitting snow started to come down thick, at times obscuring the road for long seconds. Frost gathered at the corners of the windshield. My thin gloves quickly lost effectiveness against the cold.

Ollie began the trek with a lot of braking and questioning glances. The farther we traveled, though, the less jerky his control became. By the time we’d traversed the first five miles, Ollie’s confidence in the old Willy’s had transferred to his decision-making. He skillfully navigated the Jeep, maintaining a steady course as we peeled off of Mill Spring onto another road. 

The wheels kicked up milky white plumes as we swung onto the narrow trail, lined with tall pines thick with heavy snowfall. The arctic scent of winter saturated the interior as the vehicle traced its way up the mountain. Ollie’s grip on the steering wheel was firm and unwavering, his eyes squinted at the nearly invisible track ahead. Despite frequent twists and turns, his skill at driving kept the Willy’s between the ditches. Tires rumbled over the snow-covered gravel with an unsteady rhythm.

“Indian Creek Road,” Ollie claimed. The tone of his voice exuded greater confidence. 

I loosened my grip of the cold metal.

We veered north. Then a bend sent us east, past a few more acres of cleared farmland, through a grove of mostly pine trees that opened into a flatland valley.

“You said twenty minutes?” I yelled, straining my vocal cords above the echoing whine of the engine and keening winds. 

“Without the storm it’s twenty.” Ollie turned his head just enough to ensure he’d be heard. “If this keeps up it’ll take longer.”

A gust smacked the side next to my head to make the point. Frost sprinkled my cheeks.

Tony bounced in the back seat, thick mustache tinged with white. He shook his head at me and scowled.

The track turned south. Snow cascaded down in thick blankets, a wall of white surrounding us. 

Tony pulled himself forward between the back of our adjacent seats. “This is turning into a blizzard, gents,” he said, words blending with the howling wind. “You sure we can find them?” 

A shudder ran the length of me.

“We can find the place,” Ollie said. “I’m taking your word the ladies are there.”

“It’s the best choice we have,” I said. “If Lorna’s memory has it right, this is where Aidan took Vicky as a girl.” My voice held more self-assurance than I felt. “If she killed him, the guilt and pain will drive her back to better times.”

“Still a gamble,” Tony said.

“Drive or hike, I’ve got to find them,” I said. “I can’t leave Renée out here to die.”

Wind rattled the plastic topper and heavy flakes pummeled the windshield. 

Tony leaned close to me, his voice barely audible. “Not saying leave her, Pard, but we don’t even know for sure we’re on the right track. Getting lost in this storm won’t help anyone. And I’m real fond of my wife and kids.” 

Ollie glanced over, a deep furrow creasing his usually jovial face. “You guys need to be committed to this. It’s the uncertainty that kills folks in these mountains.” He returned his attention to the fragmented road. “Blizzard or not, that’s the rule.”

The Jeep reached a hairpin crossroad and Ollie took the corner in a skid. 

“Sinclair Creek Road,” he reported, rear tires chattering for purchase on the snowed over berm.

We traveled north northeast, bending into a thick grove of Douglas fir. The branches collected the abundance of heavy snow, fattening with the weight of winter. East and north into deeper woods that prevented the gray light of day from highlighting details. The curvy lane veered northwest, hard eastbound, and then northeast on our trek. 

We ran out of road at what Ollie called the Friedman place.

Vicky’s GMC Typhoon sat there with the passenger door part ways open. 

Snow already covered every exposed surface but the engine hood.

Ollie broke his door loose from the freeze and said, “We walk from here.” 

“At least we’re on the right track,” Tony said.

I grunted and shoved my side open.

The wind blew harder. Tiny flakes of accusation stabbed my face and neck.

Ollie followed two sets of boot tracks into the trees as they traveled an obscure path meant only for natives. We skirted a south facing ridge that rose toward a summit we could not see above us. A wet, gray blanket coated our ascent.

Wind kicked us from the north, east and west in turns. The saving grace was that Ksanka Peak prevented a full frontal blast. The thinning timberline provided a partial canopy.

Ollie stopped periodically and retraced a few steps before resuming the tracking effort. We’d gone a half mile when he lost the trail.

“I thought you knew where the cave was?” The words barely passed my lips before a gust snatched at them, casting them into the storm.

“I know where the cave is.” He frantically scanned the hillside, his eyes darting back and forth. “They must have gotten confused here. Their tracks are leading in a couple different directions and it has me disoriented.” 

My heart raced. We needed to find the cave to save my sister, and we needed the cave’s shelter to stay alive. Ollie’s hesitation and confusion only added to my fears. Trust his instinct or start digging in to survive?

Pressure in my forehead stretched the skin and pulled my jaw tight. Blood pounded in my ears. Minuscule bullets hit my skin and exploded into steam geysers. I opened my mouth and rotated my jaw. 

This would be the death of my sister. If we didn’t find them, Renée would die up here on this cold-hearted mountaintop. 

Mother… I would not be able to face Mother.

“Ollie,” I said in measured syllables. “What does the ground tell you?”

“It’s hard to know, sir. Most times up here the weather made it easy to get around. Heavy snow and blasts of wind have slowed me down. Difficult to identify their direction and number of their tracks.”

“But you know the direction to the cave, right?”

He scowled. “My worry is they got lost. It won’t matter if we get to the cave and they’re stuck out here.” His arm waved at the blizzard.

My heart dropped. I caught a cold breath. “She’ll go on instinct.”

“What?”

“Don’t rely on sign. You’ve been here before. Try to recall the slope, the shape, the feel. That’s the way Vicky will do it. She can’t rely on sign the way you do.”

“Maybe.” His gaze followed the contours, eyes blinking against the spatters of frozen sky. He squatted low.

“You can do this, Ollie.” The pressure in my chest made it hard to form words. “You have to do this.”

Tony shifted on his feet. He’d stayed quiet, letting us find a solution without confusing the problem. I guessed his cop sense was evaluating body language, watching our breaths deepen. Watching my torso lean forward with tight fists, ready to charge into the storm. My body resonated with panic. I could launch at any second.

Our guide stood upright, gloved hand extended like a pointer. “Got it!” He bellowed, charging along the rugged ridge line before us.

Tony and I sprinted after him, a fierce gale threatening to sweep us off the treacherous mountainside.