The twin red tail lights fade into the whiteout, disappearing in seconds.
He’s gone.
He’s gone into the dark, alone in his own machine, and we both know the math.
In a storm like this, the perimeter is never secure.
Chapter 16
The Blizzard
Jax
Ican’t see the hood of the Jeep.
The headlights are cutting through the snow, but they’re just illuminating a wall of white moving at sixty miles an hour. The wind is hitting the Wrangler broadside, threatening to shove two tons of steel off the road and into the ravine.
I grip the wheel. My knuckles are white inside my tactical gloves.
"Come on, old girl," I mutter, downshifting to keep the traction. "Don't die on me now."
The heater is blasting, but I’m freezing. The cold out here is predatory. It seeks out the gaps in your armour.
I see a faint red glow ahead. Flares.
I slam the brakes, pumping them to avoid a skid. The Jeep slides, the back end fishing out, but the tires bite into the ice at the last second. I come to a stop inches from the back bumper of a snow-covered ambulance.
I kill the engine. I grab my bag.
I kick the door open.
The wind roar is deafening. It feels like stepping onto a tarmac behind a jet engine. Snow needles sting my exposed face.
I pull my scarf up and run toward the red lights.
The scene is a nightmare.
The bus is on its side, teetering on the edge of the embankment. It looks like a dead whale beached in the snow. Windows are shattered. Passengers are crawling out, blood staining the white drifts red.
Paramedics are huddled in groups, trying to shield victims from the wind.
"Who’s in charge?" I scream over the wind.
A paramedic in a heavy yellow parka turns. It’s Miller. He looks terrified. His eyelashes are frozen clumps of ice.
"Dr. O'Connell?" Miller yells, his eyes widening. "You drove?"
"Sitrep!" I bark, grabbing his shoulder. "Give me the numbers!"
"Twenty-four passengers!" Miller shouts. "Walking wounded are in the rigs. But we have three entrapments inside! The bus is unstable! Fire is five minutes out, but they can't get the heavy rescue truck up the hill!"
"Show me," I order.
We run to the bus. The smell of diesel fuel is overpowering. Miller points to a shattered window near the back.
"Female, twenties. Pinned by the seat frame. She’s conscious, but her BP is tanking. We can't get a tourniquet high enough. She’s bleeding out."
I climb up the side of the bus. The metal is slick with ice. I peer into the dark hole of the window.
