The Journey Home by Brandon Wallace

one?” Taylor asked.
    â€œI think so,” said Jake. “Even if it’s not, we’ve got a compass. We’ll figure it out.”
    As they set out up the track, Jake wondered again if he’ddone the right thing. Around his dad’s cabin, where the trees grew thickly, shelter was easy to find. Out here nothing grew but sagebrush and rabbitbrush. There was nothing to shield them from the cold winds that blasted them in the face and made their eyes water.
    The hats Chase had given them were warm, but they weren’t enough. The snow was coming down fast now, in thick flakes that made it hard to see. Dad was right , Jake thought ruefully. The storm was here, and they were walking right into it.
    Before long the snow was crusted on their shoulders, and their fingers were numb. Jake could just make out the dim shapes of the Owl Creek Mountains through the constant snowfall, but barely anything else. The road, once a dark smudge, was now completely hidden by white snow.
    â€œI’m cold,” Taylor moaned.
    â€œHang in there.”
    â€œWe’re on the wrong road, Jake! I’m sure of it!”
    Jake was sure of it too. He’d been suspecting it for a while but hadn’t wanted to say. This was on him. He’d talked his brother into coming and had taken them down a deserted road to nowhere. He wanted to throw back his head and yell for help, but he knew that wouldn’t do any good.
    â€œOkay, let’s say we are on the wrong road. What do we need to do?”
    â€œDad would know,” Taylor said.
    â€œWell, he’s not here,” Jake snapped. “It’s up to us to find somewhere to ride out the storm.”
    Jake breathed deeply, trudging through the freezing snow and wrapping up the best he could. “We need to keep our heads together and our eyes open. Shout if you see anywhere we could shelter.”
    High up in the mountains, the snow had piled up even deeper than it had down by the highway. Only the tops of the tallest sagebushes poked out through the white layer. Jake couldn’t see anything that even remotely resembled shelter. He let out a sob of frustration before he could stop himself. Cruelly, the wind seemed to suddenly crank up a notch. It moaned across the landscape and cut right through his clothes. Cody whimpered and huddled between the boys’ legs, trying to avoid the chill.
    â€œI wish we had a tent,” Taylor said, stamping his feet to stay warm.
    Jake was about to tell him not to waste his breath on wishes, but Taylor had given him an idea. About fifty feet away he spotted a shallow dip in the landscape.
    â€œDown there,” he told Taylor.
    Taylor looked at him like he was crazy. “The snow’s even deeper there!”
    â€œI know. C’mon, unless you want to freeze to death.”
    Cody followed in their footsteps as the boys trudged down into the wash and unslung their backpacks.
    â€œWhat are we doing?” asked Taylor.
    â€œWe’re going to build ourselves a snow house,” Jake said, pulling on the deerskin gloves Abe had given him, protecting his red-raw fingers from the wind.
    â€œWe can’t make an igloo!” Taylor yelled. “Where would we start?”
    â€œA snow house is not an igloo. Dad told us about them. He made one when he had to escape from the wolves,” Jake admitted grudgingly, the wind blowing snowflakes into his mouth. “So they can’t be that hard to make.”
    Taylor was either too tired or too cold to argue anymore. He pulled on his gloves, and using their portable shovel and their hands, the boys began stacking up a giant pile of snow.
    It took longer than Jake had expected. Every time they threw snow onto the pile, the wind carried away half of it. With all the exertion, he began to sweat. The dampness on his skin made the icy wind bite all the more painfully.
    Finally, after twenty minutes of stacking snow, their pile reached about chest