The screen was cracked, but the line was dead; my mother had hung up.

“Someone threw a brick wrapped in a towel,” Calvin said, pointing down to the snowy ground where a dark bundle lay.

“It wasn’t just a random strike,” I said, my chest tight as I looked at the dashboard. “Calvin, stop the drivers. Nobody moves these trucks.”

He frowned, his brow furrowing under his wool cap. “We have to get this shipment out, Avery. The hospital in Cheyenne is waiting.”

“Check the air lines on the lead rig,” I told him, my voice shaking. “Check the brakes. Right now.”

Calvin stared at me for a second, then dropped down from the step without another word.

I climbed out of the cab, my boots sinking into the slush, the freezing wind stinging my face through my torn collar.

Underneath the trailer of the lead truck, Calvin was shining a flashlight onto the black rubber hoses.

I walked over and knelt beside him, the cold steel of the chassis inches from my forehead.

The beam of his flashlight illuminated a clean, diagonal slice through the thick rubber of the primary brake line.