We bounced over the rough gravel lot, steering clear of the paved roads where the MP patrols would be looking for us.

Reyes turned the vehicle down a narrow, unplowed track lined with pine trees.

The snow was deep here, the branches of the trees hanging low under the weight of the ice.

The tires spun for a second in a deep drift, but the SUV regained its grip and kept moving forward.

“We’re almost to the boundary fence,” Reyes said, his hands tight on the steering wheel.

Up ahead, I could see the chain-link fence that marked the edge of the military reservation.

A rusted yellow gate stood open, its lock broken long ago.

Reyes drove through the gate and onto the county highway.

The road was completely covered in a white sheet of packed snow, with no other cars in sight.

“We’re out,” I said, letting out a breath I felt like I had been holding for hours.

“For now,” Jake said, his eyes scanning the mirrors.

Owen started to cry, a small, whimpering sound that quickly grew louder as the warmth of the car heater began to kick in.