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the snow, and the cab was packed with it. He couldn’t even see the steering wheel inside. The sidewalls were dented and the rear left tire was flat. He could only guess at the condition of the motor and drivetrain after being encased in ice for two years. If anything, the pickup might provide some parts, but it would likely never be put into service again. Meaning he’d still top the list.
    Farkus cursed under his breath as they cinched the nylon web ties on the rear wheels of the pickup.
    â€œOkay,” Farkus hollered, when the straps were tight. “Let’s get out of here.”
    â€œGive me a minute,” Joe said, stepping back to the cab and opening the driver’s-side door.
    â€œWhat in the hell are you doing?”
    â€œChecking something,” Joe said, digging out handfuls of snow from inside until he could reach behind the bench seat and feel around.
It was still there.
    He closed the door and climbed back into the cab of the tow truck with Farkus.
    â€œWhat was that all about?”
    â€œNever mind,” Joe said, relieved.
    â€œWe’re getting off this damned mountain with our lives,” Farkus said.
    â€œWe’ve done it before,” Joe smiled.
    â€œIt’s barely November. And it’s
snowing
.”
    â€œIt always snows up here.”
    â€œBut I’m sick of it!” Farkus said, hitting the cracked dashboard with the heel of his hand in anger. “I want to move someplace where it’s warm and flat. I’m sick of mountains and this damned horrible weather. I want to see long-legged women in bikinis! Most of all, I’m sick of having guns pointed at me and animals falling out of the sky and nearly drowning. Do you know how much my hospital bills are?”
    â€œNo. But when did you start paying your bills?”
    â€œJust stop it, Joe, goddamnit.”
    As Joe scooped packed snow from his cuffs and the collar of his shirt, he remembered the calls he’d received earlier and dug out his phone.
    One from Governor Rulon’s office. The other from his oldest daughter, Sheridan, a junior at the University of Wyoming. Rulon had left a message Joe wouldn’t be able to retrieve until they cleared the timber and got back on the highway, where there would be cell reception. Sheridan, typical of kids her age, hadn’t. In fact, Sheridan rarely used her phone as a phone. It was more of a texting device.
    Both calls had come completely out of the blue.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    T HE FALLING SNOW lightened in volume as Farkus maneuvered the tow truck down the mountain. Because the wreck on the back made the truck longer, Farkus had to carefully negotiate sharp turns in the burned timber to stay on the road. Twice, Joe could hear the body of the old truck scraping against tree trunks and damaging it further. Because many of the trees were standing dead, Joe feared the impact might knock them over and crush the cab of the tow truck. He told Farkus to slow down and be more careful. Farkus threw uphis hands and complained that they may not make it to the highway before it got dark.
    â€œThat’s why you have headlights,” Joe said.
    â€œStill . . .”
    â€œTry not to beat up that pickup or knock down any trees until we get on the road, please.”
    â€œIf you think it’s so damned easy, you can drive,” Farkus huffed.
    Joe dismissed him and thought about Sheridan. For the past two months, she’d been the resident assistant at her dormitory at UW and they hadn’t heard much from her. She claimed to be wildly busy with school, activities, and managing a coed floor of freshmen. Sheridan’s tuition was paid by a trust established under duress by her grandmother Missy—Marybeth’s mother—although there were additional expenses Joe and Marybeth were responsible for. Sheridan communicated primarily through cryptic texts and cell phone photos of herself at football games