Chapter 5 Promises at Dawn
The predawn darkness at the Nelson farm was electric with silent motion. Two SUVs and a trailer carrying snowmobiles stood in the yard. Lights burned in the farmhouse windows, casting long rectangles onto the frost-whitened ground.
Lily stood by the kitchen sink, clutching her satellite phone. Her finger hovered over “Home.” The team moved around her: Jack and Karl verifying equipment, Aine checking chemical kits, Michael consulting weather radar with Grandpa. Emma murmured final protocols to FGS in the next room.
She had delayed this call. Telling David and Anna.
She took a shaky breath and pressed the button.
“Lily-girl?” David Miller’s voice, warm with sleep, filled her ear. “It’s barely 4:00 AM.”
Hearing the nickname broke something loose. “Hi, Dad. Is Mom there?”
“I’m here, honey.” Anna’s voice came on. “This is about the big fieldwork?”
“Yeah.” Lily turned to the dark window. “We’re leaving in a few minutes. The scope expanded. We’re heading to the Bitterroot Mountains in Montana. About a week.”
A beat of silence.
“The Bitterroots in November,” David said. “That’s serious winter conditions. You have the right gear? The right team?”
“The best. Federal Survey operation. Dr. Howard is leading. Survival expert, mountaineer, satellites, emergency beacons.”
“We trust her,” Anna said. “It’s the remote part that’s hard.”
“I know, Mom.” Lily pressed her forehead to the cold glass. “I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t crucial. The data could save lives.”
Another silence. Then David spoke, voice thicker. “You’ve always had a compass pointing to places that scare us. We’ve learned to trust it. This is the hardest trust yet. But it’s yours.”
A sob caught in Lily’s throat.
“Be smart,” Anna said. “Be brilliant. Listen to your team. And come home. That’s the only data we care about.”
“I love you both. I’ll call when I can.”
“We love you more. Go kick some scientific butt.”
A watery laugh. “Bye.”
She ended the call. Her breath fogged the glass.
Emma appeared beside her, offering a bandana. “It never gets easier. Telling people you love you’re walking into danger. It’s the heaviest gear you’ll carry.”
Lily wiped her face. “But you still go.”
“You still go. Because the idea matters. And because you carry their love with you. It’s the anchor that ensures you have something to come back to.” She touched Lily’s shoulder. “Ready?”
Lily straightened. “Ready.”
The convoy rolled out as grey light bled into the sky. Grandpa stood on the porch, hand raised, until the taillights vanished into the pines.
Jack drove the lead SUV. Lily sat in the back, watching the familiar landscape slip away. Little conversation—just the hum of the engine and occasional radio crackle from Emma.
They stopped only for fuel. As they climbed into the Idaho panhandle, icy sleet began pelting the windshield.
“Weather’s moving in faster than forecast,” Karl noted from the second vehicle.
“We proceed to the staging area,” Emma’s voice came over the radio. “Twelve-hour window.”
The “road” became a rutted, muddy trail winding up a steep mountainside. Trees scraped the sides. After two hours of jolting progress, they reached a small clearing—a long-defunct trailhead. Here, the real world ended.
They piled out into a biting wind. Before them, the Bitterroots rose: a vast, white-shrouded sea of peaks and razor edges under a turbulent grey sky.
“Four hours of daylight,” Emma said. “Unload the snowmobiles, pack the sleds, move up to the base camp site.” She pointed to a high meadow eight kilometres ahead and six hundred metres up. “Karl, Michael, lead. Jack, Lily, Aine—secure the loads. Everything balanced and locked down.”
The next hours dissolved into cold labour. Snowmobiles roared. Cargo sleds were hitched. Jack and Lily worked side by side, movements synchronizing without words. Gloves brushed. Shoulders bumped.
Finally they stood dressed in full extreme cold-weather gear—layered insulation, armoured shells, heated visors. They looked like astronauts on a hostile white planet.
Emma gathered them. “The easy part is over. From this point, we’re on the mountain’s terms. Technology is an advantage, not a guarantee.
We move slowly. We watch each other. If you feel doubt, see a hazard, hear a change—speak immediately.
Only the team and the mission.” Her gaze held Lily for a moment.
“We’re following a path laid down centuries ago to warn us. Let’s be worthy of that warning.”
The snowmobiles roared to life. Karl and Michael took the lead, carving the first trench into virgin snow. One by one, the others fell in line. The mountain loomed above, swallowing them whole.