PART 2 — THE WOMAN WHO SHOULD HAVE BEEN DEAD

Elena followed the footprint deeper into the mountain.

The lantern shook slightly in her hand.

The passage narrowed around her until her shoulders nearly brushed both walls.

The air had changed.

It smelled of cold stone.

Old smoke.

And something else.

Leather.

Elena stopped.

“Who’s there?”

Her voice disappeared into the darkness.

No answer.

Behind her, Noah was still asleep in the outer chamber.

Every instinct told her to turn around.

But then she saw another footprint.

Fresh.

The heel was sharp in the dust.

Someone had walked through here recently.

Elena tightened her grip on the lantern and continued.

The passage curved sharply.

Then opened.

She stopped breathing.

A second chamber stretched before her.

Shelves covered nearly every wall.

And they weren’t empty.

Sacks of flour.

Jars of beans.

Salt.

Dried apples.

Candles.

Lamp oil.

Wool blankets.

Firewood.

There was enough food and supplies to keep several people alive for weeks.

Someone had been stocking this place.

Recently.

Elena stepped closer.

A wooden crate sat beneath one of the shelves.

A thin layer of dust covered its sides.

But not the lid.

Someone had touched it.

Her fingers trembled as she opened it.

Inside were tiny clothes.

Knitted stockings.

A soft wool blanket.

Everything was made for a child.

Her child.

Beneath the blanket was a folded piece of paper.

Her name was written across it.

Elena Whitmore.

Her knees nearly gave way.

Daniel had been dead for six months.

Yet the paper looked almost new.

She unfolded it.

The handwriting stopped her heart.

“Elena—if you found this, the weather has already begun to turn.”

She pressed the paper against her chest.

“Daniel…”

Her eyes burned.

She read the next line.

“I didn’t tell you everything because I believed keeping you away from this place would keep you safe.”

Elena swallowed hard.

“What were you hiding?”

A floorboard—or something like one—creaked behind her.

She spun around.

An elderly woman stood at the entrance.

Snow melted from the dark wool cloak around her shoulders.

Elena stumbled backward.

“How did you get in here?”

The woman slowly raised both hands.

She wasn’t carrying a weapon.

“I’ve been coming here since before Daniel was born.”

Elena stared at her.

“Who are you?”

The stranger didn’t answer immediately.

Her eyes moved past Elena.

Toward the name carved into the stone.

Miriam Whitmore.

Then the old woman spoke.

“Daniel believed his mother died in 1868.”

Elena’s blood ran cold.

The woman stepped farther into the chamber.

“But Miriam Whitmore didn’t die.”

The lantern flame trembled.

Elena felt as though the entire mountain had shifted beneath her feet.

“You’re saying…”

“I knew Daniel’s mother.”

“Who are you?”

The old woman lowered her hood.

Her face was weathered by decades of cold and hard living.

“My name is Ruth Mercer.”

Elena stared at her.

Ruth’s eyes softened.

“Daniel never knew the whole truth about this mountain.”

“Then tell me.”

Ruth glanced toward the supplies.

“His mother began preparing this shelter long before Daniel was born.”

“Why?”

“Because she knew there would come a winter when Silver Creek would be cut off.”

Elena looked toward the narrow passage.

“And Daniel?”

Ruth hesitated.

“He discovered what she had left behind.”

“Then why didn’t he tell me?”

“Perhaps he intended to.”

Ruth’s gaze dropped to the letter in Elena’s hand.

“But someone was watching him.”

Elena’s stomach tightened.

“Who?”

Before Ruth could answer, a distant roar rolled through the mountain.

Both women turned toward the entrance.

The sound grew louder.

The wind.

Not an ordinary winter wind.

Something enormous was moving across the valley.

Ruth’s expression changed.

“It’s here.”

Elena hurried toward the entrance.

Through the narrow opening between the juniper branches, she could see almost nothing.

Snow was already swallowing the trees.

The mountain had disappeared behind a white wall.

Silver Creek was vanishing beneath the storm.

Ruth stood beside her.

“How long?”

Elena asked.

Ruth looked at the sky.

“If this is the storm I think it is…”

She didn’t finish.

Outside, the first violent gust struck the mountain.

Snow slammed against the stone.

Elena looked back at Noah sleeping safely beside the fire.

Then at the shelves of supplies.

Then at Daniel’s letter.

And finally at Ruth.

“How many people know this place exists?”

Ruth’s face became grim.

“Until tonight?”

Elena waited.

“Almost no one.”

Another roar shook the mountain.

Ruth turned toward her.

“But by morning, they may all be looking for it.”

Elena frowned.

“Why?”

Ruth looked toward the buried trail outside.

“Because Daniel didn’t build this shelter only for you.”

The words settled between them.

Elena stared at her.

“What do you mean?”

Ruth’s answer came quietly.

“He knew this storm was coming.”

Then the mountain went dark.

And somewhere beyond the snow, fourteen people had already begun searching for the woman who had disappeared into the mountain with her little boy.