Cassie Miles - Footprints in the Snow

Through the swirling eddies of snow, she saw him. A man dressed in white from head to toe—camouflaged in the storm. Though he was skiing uphill against the pelting wind, he moved with great speed, driving his long skis forward. His technique amazed her.

“Who are you?” Shana asked once he’d approached.

“Sergeant Luke Rawlins.”

A soldier? Though she was dizzy and weak, she cracked a smile. It seemed that the cavalry had skied over the hill and come to her rescue. All she could see of his face was a firm, stubborn jaw.

With a huge effort, she stood upright, knee-deep in snow. Her legs felt like rubber. The cold had drained the last bit of strength from her muscles.

Before she could tell him that she was fine, her eyelids closed. She was falling through the swirling snow into unconsciousness.

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To the brave men and women of the

10th Mountain Division. And, as always, to my

favorite Marine sergeant, Rick Hanson.

Cassie Miles lives in a Denver high-rise with a view of the Front Range through her office window—a huge temptation to get outside and play. After a broken ankle a few years ago, she hung up her skis, but still enjoys hiking, climbing and sitting in a grove of aspen, reading a book.

Shana Parisi—An exploration geologist on vacation in Colorado when she’s swept up in a surprise blizzard.

Luke Rawlins—A sergeant in the 10th Mountain Division who has already seen action on the front lines.

Enrico Fermi—Nobel Prize–winning physicist who worked on the Manhattan Project.

Dr. Douglas & Dr. Schultz—Coworkers with Dr. Fermi.

Verne Hughes—Captain in charge of operations at Camp Hale.

Henry Harrison—Private First Class, conscripted into the 10th.

Edward Martin—Private First Class in the 10th.

Jack Swenson—Expert ski instructor and mountain man from Aspen.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Shana Parisi knew better than to leave the well-marked cross-country ski trail in the mountains outside Leadville. Above all, she believed in following the rules. Her logical, predictable nature served her well in her work as an exploration geologist for AMVOX Oil.

But today was somehow different. Acting on impulse, she’d stepped off the marked trail and gone exploring. Ignoring the beginning twinges of a headache, she’d skied from one interesting geological feature to another. These mineral-rich mountains were like a trip to Disneyland, especially since she’d spent the past year and a half on assignment in Kuwait. Colorado felt so clean, so fresh, so incredibly all-American.

She poked around the edges of an open pit mine. Studied the striation on a granite cliff. And entered a natural cave pocked with dark crystals, several of which found their way into her pocket along with an unusual shard of glassy green that looked like trinite.

Outside the cave, she slipped her boots into the bindings of her short backcountry skis, fastened the tethers and inhaled a gasp of the thin mountain air. Her lungs burned. Glancing at her wristwatch, she saw that she’d been out here for over three hours. Too long. Her slight headache had turned into a real killer.

Adjusting her goggles, she peered downhill at a wide slope bordered by thick pine forest on either side and tried to remember where she’d left the cross-country trail. Downhill to the left. Or to the right? Every year dozens of people got lost in these mountains. Some were never found.

Surely, she hadn’t gone too far off track. Reaching up, she tightened the scrunchie that held her thick black hair up in a ponytail. Earlier, she’d taken off her heavy gloves and parka; the May weather was warm enough for skiing in just a down vest and turtleneck.

It was colder now. Heavy gray clouds roiled overhead, and darker clouds were coming in behind them. Snowflakes fell in nasty little sputters. Should she dig her warmer gear out of her backpack? Making that simple decision seemed difficult; the inside of her head was fuzzy. Something was wrong with her. Maybe altitude sickness. She was near the Continental Divide, over ten thousand feet. She needed to get off this mountain.

Though tempted to tuck into a ball and schuss downhill like an Alpine skier, she wasn’t that skilled. Carefully, she traversed the ridge above the snow-covered slope. It took all of her concentration to coordinate thrusting with her skis and picking with her poles.

A fierce wind gusted around her, taking her breath away. A strange glow surrounded her—like a spotlight from the heavens. The wind became a deafening roar. Her body was weightless, disconnected. What’s happening? She blinked slowly and everything returned to normal.

Then, the storm hit hard. An instant blizzard. The heavens split open and dumped a truckload of snow on her head.

Her goggles smeared with moisture, and she could barely see. The freezing cold sank through her turtleneck and into her bones as she kept going. Though she was skiing furiously across the ridge, it felt as if she was standing still, suspended in the storm.

Turning to dig in with her edges, her skis stuttered across a patch of ice then slipped out from under her. A scream wrenched from her throat as she went flying. Her boots broke free from the bindings, and she released the poles. In a somersault, she landed on her backpack and slid downhill. Her skis, still attached by tethers, crashed beside her. She dug in the heels of her boots, fighting until finally she came to a stop.

When she struggled to stand, her feet sank deep into the snowpack, and she sprawled backward. With her heart beating rapidly, she couldn’t catch her breath. She was dizzy, light-headed. The entire world was shrouded in white. And cold. God, it was cold.

Forcing herself up, she lurched and stumbled again, falling forward on her hands and knees. A wave of nausea surged in her belly. She vomited into the snow.

She needed to pull herself together, but she couldn’t move. Did she hit her head when she fell? Was she paralyzed? More likely, she was in early stage hypothermia. A seductive lassitude. This is what happens when you break the rules.

It occurred to her that she might die. Alone. Unmarried and without children. There would be no one to mourn her passing except for her globe-trotting diplomat father whose greatest concern would be to choose the most appropriate coffin.

She lay back in the snow, too cold to care what happened to her. The roaring winds swept over her. In their wake came confusion. And then, a strong sense of certainty. She was meant to be here at this place and in this time. This is my destiny.