IN THE CLEARING, BENEATH THE FIRSSid eased the rusty Buick past the fir trees and into the clearing. The car climbed and dropped over the frozen ground, jostling him behind the steering wheel. He wanted to ease off the gas, but was afraid he might wind up stuck, unable to free the vehicle again. Stranding himself like that could prove deadly.
The clearing wasn’t very large, maybe thirty yards across, lined with ice-crusted firs. The sun glinted through the trees, sparkling in the February sky. The ground was a snow-spotted patch of frozen dirt. Digging would be difficult, but not impossible. Sid was a patient man. He would break through.
He piloted the Buick to the center of the clearing and killed the engine. It rattled to a stop, and he listened as the engine’s dying ticks echoed into
