But the oncoming darkness made no difference; visibility was nearly zero. She could see the deck’s railing just outside the window, but beyond that, all that existed was a deluge of white. Of all the years they had lived in Denver as kids, Jane couldn’t remember ever seeing it snow this hard in the city. She could only imagine how deep Sawyer’s Jeep was buried now, the tracks it had made that morning probably gone. The wind howled outside, blowing snow off the railing in waves. It was one of those storms people never forgot, the kind that refused to let up until the food and firewood were gone. They were going to die here. If they didn’t starve, they’d freeze. And if those two fates didn’t get them first, the beasts that lingered in the trees would. Jane turned to face the living room. Ryan was sitting next to the fireplace, occasionally poking the last of a burning log. Sawyer sat on the couch, his gaze fixed on the gun she had found. It rested on top of the coffee table, loaded and ready next to the knives, though that gun didn’t make her feel much better after the display she’d witnessed a few hours before.
