With a huff I pull out my AirPods and nestle into the corner. I just hope we don’t hit any turbulence.
A ROCKY START
Somehow, despite Todd and Simon’s constant bickering, I manage to doze off during the four-hour flight. I’m woken by someone shaking my shoulder.
“Max,” Katie says, her voice sounding distant, “we’re here.”
I blink and open my eyes to look around the cabin. It’s still light outside and a sunny haze is drifting in through the open door. Jasper’s seat is empty, he’s already disembarked; Clayton is nowhere to be seen either. Olivia is stepping through the door, followed by Katie’s jostling paramours.
“Come on,” she says. “Cars are waiting to take us the rest of the way.”
“M’kay.”
Yawning and stretching out my back, I grab my bag and follow Katie toward the exit. She gives me this concerned look as she heads down the stairs. We’re on a different airfield, but it’s pretty much the same as the last one. The runway, a slightly different shade of gray, divides two patches of closely cropped lawn. A watchtower hovers nearby; some other buildings and a hanger or two sit across the field like an uninviting village. Only there’s a crispness to the chill in the air, a freshness you won’t find in New York.
Two town cars with blackout windows sit waiting for us. I spin my head from side to side, looking for Jasper.
“He already left in a car with Clayton,” Katie says.
Of course he did.I’m only jealous of Clayton for a second because then it dawns on me. There are only two cars left and Katie is going to want to travel with her mates.
Over to my right, Olivia is opening one of the car doors; she glances at the remaining members of the envoy and catches my eye, does some quick math in her head, comes to the same conclusion I have, and sighs. We’re stuck together.
“You could squeeze in with us,” Katie offers halfheartedly, noticing my frown.
My shoulders slouch forward and I mumble something about it being fine then head over to the car where Olivia has already slipped inside and shut the door. I slide in next to her and she makes a point of turning up the volume on her headphones.
I can’t for the life of me figure out why she’s freezing me out. But if that’s how she wants to play it, fine. There’s a true crime podcast saved on my phone that’s more inviting. I sure hope they’re friendlier at the Rocky Pack.
Turns out the drive from the airfield is almost as long as the plane ride. Olivia and I sit in silence as the car makes its way into the mountains. We leave the small towns, with their retro diners and log-laden trucks, behind and begin our incline. Suddenly, we’re enveloped on either side by steel-silver and snow-white mounds with jagged outcrops and no signs of life. The sun is beginning to set behind the mountainous horizon, casting everything in a peachy light.
Eagerly the town car plows on up a twisty mountain road, drifting way too close to the sheer edge for my liking. We snake our way higher and higher until I start to wonder if we’re all going to need oxygen masks to survive the week.
Finally, in the distance across the valley, I spot the warm speckle of electric lights. Perched on a plateau carved out of the mountainside, the glow of civilization sits, warm and welcoming. I can almost smell the hot chocolate already. But there’s a strange uneasiness in my stomach as we turn yet another corner and the settlement disappears from view.
We drive for at least another forty minutes until the twists are turning my stomach. The lights of the Rocky Pack occasionally flicker back into view, each time a little larger and a little warmer.
When we turn the final corner and arrive in a parking lot the size of a football field, my eyes can barely stay open the light is so bright. Fancy cars sit in rows sparkling in the glow of the Rocky Pack’s headquarters: Porsches and Jags and Lamborghinis, plus a few pickups and a couple of coaches—the kind that ship human tourists around the country. The packhouse looks like the biggest, fanciest ski resort I’ve ever seen. Not that I’ve ever been skiing, but you know from films and stuff. The front wall is almost entirely glass, with logs the size of redwoods supporting the flat, angled, snow-laden roof. A wooden veranda protrudes above the doors, supported by stone pillars, and inside I catch a glimpse of a Christmas tree to rival Rockefeller’s.
Tires crunch on gravel as the car pulls to a stop and Olivia jumps out. We’ve arrived but I need to take a quick breath before exiting the vehicle. I’m so far from home, in a strange stony environment, with no one except my best friend who I think I’m fighting with and a mate who wishes I was anywhere else. Maybe coming up here was a mistake—maybe this whole chase is—and now there’s no way back. It’s not like I can charter a private jet on my own, or call an Uber to come up here and get me. I’m stuck for the duration.
Well, you better make the most of it.
Jaw set, I clutch the strap of my duffel and step out of the car.
“How was the ride?” Katie asks, leaving Todd and Simon to deal with their bags and joining me as I head toward the glass doors.
“Pretty twisty,” I say.
“Max, I—”
“We’re going in.”
A man in a black suit with a high collar and a little round hat has pulled open the front door and is ushering us inside. It’s breezy up here and loose powder is flitting inside, so Katie and I hustle to join up with the others.
The warmth of the interior hits me like an unexpected bear hug, making my eyes water. Gentle music is playing from speakers I can’t see. And it’s… Yes, it’s Christmas music: an instrumental version of “Sleigh Ride.” Ahead, Jasper and Clayton are talking with two staff members wearing matching uniforms to the guy behind us. This is a packhouse, but they look like bellhops at a hotel. Clayton grins smugly as he slips a fifty-dollar bill into the coat pocket of one of the staff, patting their chest and watching as they take his many Louis Vuitton bags away.
“Sir, may I take your bag?” a squeaky voice says to my right.
