THIRTY-ONE
For the tenth time in five minutes, Sam looked at his phone's clock. "We're not going to get there before dark."
Bobby peered ahead at the line of cars in front of them. Tail lights burned through the haze of snow. "I know."
They'd just crawled through Emigrant Gap, and Bobby knew it took more than thirty minutes to reach Truckee on a good day. At this rate, they wouldn't get there for another hour and a half or more.
The sun still hung above the peaks to the west, but soon it would dip low. Not that it mattered; they'd hike out in the middle of the night if they had to. With agonizing slowness, the line of traffic ascended and descended, working through the mountains into the town of Truckee. As the gloaming set in, Bobby spied Donner Lake on the right, gleaming in the last of the light.
"We're close."
They peeled off at one of the first exits, near the Donner Party memorial. Bobby saw the statue rising on the side of the road, the brave figure of a man and woman with two little children.
To avoid more traffic, they took side streets toward the main road that led to the trailhead and the ski slopes beyond. When they got there, two sheriff's department SUVs blocked the road.
As Bobby approached, a deputy stepped out of his car and held up his hand, telling him to stop. He slowed to a halt and rolled the window down.
"What's going on?" Bobby asked the deputy.
"Road's closed, sir. You can't go through this way."
"Why?"
"Avalanche danger. Whole mountain's ready to go." He sized them up. "You folks headed up to ski?"
Bobby shook his head. "Hike."
"At night?"
Sam leaned over. "We're backcountry campers."
The deputy looked over his shoulder at the forest and mountains beyond. "Well, it's going to be a while before you can go up there. The ski resort's in the middle of evacuating all its guests. All those backcountry sites at the bottom of the slope are in extreme avalanche danger. I'm afraid we just can't allow any hikers in there right now."
Bobby frowned. "How long until we can?"
The deputy looked pensive. "Storm's supposed to last at least two more days. Avalanche control is coming up with a plan for some controlled slides, but for now I suggest you find lodging in Truckee and check in with the sheriff's station tomorrow."
Sam leaned across again to look at the deputy, flipping open his F.B.I. credentials. "Here's the truth. This is an emergency. We have an agent out there tracking a homicide suspect, and we were supposed to meet him."
The ranger stared at his badge. "I'm sorry, but Feds or not, I can't let anyone in. It's just too dangerous. You say your colleague is out there right now?" The obvious worry in the ranger's eyes did nothing to settle their unease.
"Yes," Bobby told him.
"You should go check with the rangers then. They were patrolling the area, bringing in hikers. Your agent might be at the station."
If only, Bobby thought grimly, but said, "We'll do that."
The deputy wrapped his knuckles on the car door. "All right then, folks. Good luck to you. Stay warm."
"You, too," Sam told him.
As Bobby backed up the car and turned around, he glanced at Sam in the growing darkness. "This isn't good."
"We have to get to the ranger station. Maybe Dean is there."
Bobby nodded, but he didn't let on to Sam that he thought that was about as likely as a junkyard dog ignoring a T-bone steak. There was no way Dean would have let a ranger evacuate him when the aswang was out there killing people.
He just hoped the storm hadn't gotten to Dean first.
