I tried to open the driver’s door, but it wouldn’t budge. The snow had packed in around it. I threw my shoulder against it once, grunting. I tried again without luck, but on the third try it gave way, dumping a cascade of snow into my lap.
The cold hit me like a physical force. I’d changed out of my California clothes a half dozen rest areas ago, pulling on the new winter coat and boots I’d ordered online, but nothing had prepared me for this. The wind cut through my jeans instantly, and snow stung my face.
I needed to stay in the car. That’s what all the survival articles said. Stay with the car, run the engine periodically for heat, and wait for help.
Except my engine was thoroughly stuck in a snowbank, and I was pretty sure no help was coming. I hadn’t seen another car for over thirty minutes.
I looked up and down the road, but visibility was maybe ten feet in any direction. The forest pressed in on both sides, dark trees already heavy with snow. In the summer, this was probably beautiful. Right now, it was terrifying.
My coat wasn’t enough. I climbed back into the car, wincing at the pain in my chest from the airbag, and grabbed the emergency blanket I’d packed at my mother’s insistence. Then the granola bars from my snack bag. The half-empty water bottle. The tiny first-aid kit that had seemed excessive when my mother demanded I buy it.
“Thanks, Mom,” I muttered, shoving everything into my backpack.
I should wait. I should definitely wait.
But the cold was already seeping into the car, and my breath was fogging in front of my face. How long before hypothermia set in? How long before the snow completely buried the car (and me) and no one would be able to see it? I started to panic.
Through the swirling white, I spotted a shape up ahead, maybe a hundred yards away, or maybe less; it was hard to tell. Something dark against the snow. A building? A ranger station?
It was probably stupid to leave the car. Scratch that. Definitely stupid. But sitting here freezing didn’t seem much smarter.
I zipped my coat up to my chin, pulled the hood tight, and stepped out into the storm.
The wind immediately tried to shove me back. I bent into it, one arm up to shield my face, and started walking. With each step, I sank into snow that was already shin-deep and getting deeper. My new boots, which had seemed so practical online, were not rated for this.
I’d made it maybe twenty feet when my foot hit a patch of ice hidden beneath the snow. My legs went out from under me, and I went down hard on my hip. Pain shot through my side, and snow immediately began soaking through my jeans.
“Great. Perfect. Fantastic.” I struggled to my feet, tears stinging my eyes, whether from the cold or frustration, I wasn’t sure. Probably both.
The dark shape I’d seen was gone, swallowed by the storm. Or maybe it had never been there at all.
I turned back toward my car, but I couldn’t see it anymore either. Just white. White everywhere, above and below and all around, the world erased.
A spike of real fear shot through my chest. This was how people died in the wilderness. They got turned around, walked in circles, and froze to death fifty feet from safety.
“Help!” The wind swallowed my voice. “Is anyone there?”
Nothing. Just the howl of the storm and the sound of my own ragged breathing.
I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to think. Every article I read said that in weather like this, I had maybe ten minutes before the cold became dangerous. I needed shelter, needed it now. The trees became my focus. Maybe I could get to the tree line, huddle against a trunk, use the branches for some protection, and I could survive.
A shape emerged from the white.
For a second, I thought it was a trick of the snow, a shadow cast by the storm. But it kept coming, huge and solid and impossible to miss. Eight feet tall, maybe more, covered in white fur that blended with the blizzard until only the movement gave it away.
My brain tried to categorize what I was seeing. Bear? No, wrong shape. Person in a costume? Not out here, not in this.
The figure stopped a few feet away, and I saw its face. It was broad and humanoid but distinctly not human, with a flat nose and eyes that caught what little light existed. Concerned eyes. Gentle eyes.
A Yeti.
Of course. I was moving to a monster-integrated town. Maybe I was closer to Calamity Creek than I thought. I hoped so, and I hoped the welcoming committee made house calls.
“Are you hurt?” The Yeti’s voice was deep and warm, with a rumbling quality that vibrated in my chest.
It was also achingly, impossibly familiar.
My thoughts scattered. The cold, the fear, the pain in my hip - all of it faded into background noise as I stared up at the massive figure in front of me.
