No traffic.

‘Where are we?’

‘ South Dakota.’

‘I know that.’

‘Then you know what I mean. If we’re not in Sioux Falls or Rapid City, we’re in the middle of nowhere. And we’re not in Sioux Falls or Rapid City.’

‘We have to be somewhere.’

‘GPS shows a town nearby. Name of Bolton. Maybe twenty miles. But it’s small. Just a dot on the map.’

‘Can you get a replacement bus?’

‘I’m out of Seattle. I could get one maybe four days after the snow stops.’

‘Does the town of Bolton have a police department?’

‘I’m waiting on a call.’

‘Maybe they have tow trucks.’

‘I’m sure they do. At least one. Maybe at the corner gas station, good for hauling broken-down half-ton pick-up trucks. Not so good for vehicles this size.’

‘Maybe they have farm tractors.’

‘They’d need about eight of them. And some serious chains.’

‘Maybe they have a school bus. We could transfer.’

‘The Highway Patrol won’t abandon us. They’ll get here.’

Reacher asked, ‘What’s your name?’

‘Jay Knox.’

‘You need to think ahead, Mr Knox. The Highway Patrol is an hour away under the best of circumstances. Two hours, in this weather. Three hours, given what they’re likely dealing with. So we need to get a jump. Because an hour from now this bus is going to be an icebox. Two hours from now these wrinklies are going to be dropping like flies. Maybe sooner.’

‘So what gets your vote?’

Reacher was about to answer when Knox’s cell phone rang. The guy answered it and his face lightened a little. Then it fell again. He said, ‘Thanks,’ and closed the phone. He looked at Reacher and said, ‘Apparently the town of Bolton has a police department. They’re sending a guy. But they’ve got problems of their own and it will take some time.’