This is a God damn crap of a book. Alex Scarrow (seriously, I should have known better not to read this as soon I saw that cheesy name) did his best to imitate Stephen King and Dan Simmons, but somehow he only managed to pick up some of the worst traits of the two writers. The result is this novel which should be about freezing and isolation, but it radiates no cold, makes no sense, stirs no response, and offers absolutely nothing new to the genre.
I love winter, and I can go with the story of lost settlers in the Sierra Nevadas, and I love supernatural, and I COULD go with the story of angel of death who shows up there and starts to slice everyone up. But it needed to be a horror! Unfortunately Scarrow non-scared the reader with this user friendly, oh it looks like they were just insane, the angel was just a mask made of bones, let me put in some child molesting and religious fanaticism, +22 other cliches story.
And it sucks, and at some point I wished that Barker's Pinhead somehow appeared in the middle of that bore fest, and massacred everyone. Unfortunately it did not happen, instead we got a cheap "twist" at the end. Yay. Bad read.