Violet’s footsteps pad over. “Mom…?”
Her voice is too small.
Too scared.
And fear for myself is one thing—but fear for her? That’s the kind that hits me in the sternum.
“Okay,” I say, straightening. “We stay calm.”
My breath fogs in the air.
Inside the house.
Not a good sign.
“How cold is it supposed to get tonight?” she asks.
I don’t answer. She knows I won’t sugarcoat it anyway.
Instead, I cross to the counter, pull her insulin pens from the basket, and check them. They’re still cool, still viable—but insulin can’t freeze. If the cabin drops low enough…
A pulse of panic streaks through me.
“Grab your jacket,” I say. “We’re going to try the backup space heater.”
Twenty minutes later, I’ve confirmed something I already suspected:
The backup space heater is dead, the portable generator hasn’t been functional since before Violet was born, and the storm has knocked out half the town’s HVAC systems.
A bead of sweat rolls down my spine despite the cold.
What do I do? Where do I take her? Who still has heat?
I pull out my phone and text the emergency crew chat.
Anyone still have working heat? Insulin needs stable temps.
The replies come quickly.
Kelsey:Mine flickered out twenty minutes ago.
Dana:Same here. Bundling the kids in sleeping bags.
Rachel:Space heaters keeping us warm, but barely.
And then:
Tom (Ranger Station):Generator here, but bunk space is low and we’ve already got three stranded tourists. Roads too iced to get to you. Stay put for now.
I inhale through my nose, slow and steady, even as the cold creeps deeper into the room.
Violet stands by the table, arms wrapped around herself, trying to look calm. It kills me a little.
Think, Ava. Think.
Another message pops up.
Mrs. Calder:If you get desperate, the cabin on North Ridge still has power. The new guy’s place. He’s got a generator.
