“Has anyone checked it out?” Graham interjected.
“We were just going to,” the bearded man said.
The black man shook his head. “Don’t matter. Ain’t no one going anywhere. This road is done. And,” he said, pointing at his tractor-trailer, “that ain’t moving.”
Graham looked back at the jackknifed truck. He had to agree it didn’t look like it’d be able to move. So that meant no going forward for those behind it, and he doubted there’d be any chance to turn around. The road behind them was only getting worse. Hopefully more plows would be coming this way.
Man, this really sucked. His spirits sank. On Christmas Eve at that. Trying to be a good friend and pick Clark up at the airport, and now look what it had led to. His wife, Natalie, had been against the whole plan. Let him take a bus, she had told him. He should be home with the kids, not prancing about on Christmas Eve, especially with the storm brewing. He had checked the forecast, but thought he would be a bit ahead of the worst of it. And he was, until Clark’s plane was late getting in, and the traffic out of Boston was worse than he’d expected. It looked like she’d be putting the girls to bed without him. Damn.
“Tried to raise someone on my CB,” the trucker said. “Can’t get shit. Nowhere on the bands.”
“I tried making calls too,” the bearded man said. “Useless.”
“Yeah,” Graham said, looking up at the sky. “I’m sure the storm’s knocked out the cell towers. Let’s see if we can find anything out.”
The four of them marched through the snow, the trucker in the lead with a flashlight, the kid bringing up the rear. Graham thought about telling him to go back. His arms must be freezing. He wasn’t sure what any of them could do anyway. But maybe the plow guy could tell them something if he was still in touch with the DOT office.
The dark orange hulk of the plow truck was encrusted in snow. No lights on, its engine not running like those of the other vehicles. Strange, Graham thought. How was the driver keeping warm? Graham was freezing, his fingertips stinging. He kept squeezing them, but they felt like icicles.
The trucker scanned his light over the driver’s side window. The cab was empty. Graham saw cracks in the glass. Had that been caused by the storm? he wondered. He looked at the trucker, who returned a quizzical glance and shrugged.
“Where the hell is he?” the bearded man yelled, peeved.
The trucker drew his light to the turnpike lane ahead. There was no semblance of a road, just a long stretch of white, interrupted by peaked drifts.
“Told ya,” the trucker said. “We ain’t going nowhere.” He directed the light to the other side of the median where the southbound lanes couldn’t even be seen. “Strange,” he said. “We’re all going this way. Ain’t nobody headed the other way.
“Hadn’t thought about that,” Graham said, surveying the scene. “Odd.”
“Why would he abandon his plow?” the kid shouted into the wind.
Graham almost forgot he was there; the kid had been so quiet.
“Maybe it broke down and he walked out,” the bearded man proposed.
“Ain’t nobody walking out in this mess,” the trucker said. “Besides, he would have left his hazard lights on.”
“And why did he shut his engine off?” Graham asked, though he didn’t expect an answer.
“This just don’t make sense.”
Maybe the plow had broken down, Graham thought. He stepped onto the runner and opened the door to the cab. He peered in, aided by the beam from the trucker’s flashlight. More cracks were spiderwebbed across the windshield. The keys dangled from the ignition; a thermos perched next to the driver’s seat.
Graham leaned forward, getting ready to climb into the cab and…what? Maybe try to see if it started. The trucker might be better off trying, being more experienced with big rigs. Graham placed his hand on the driver’s seat for leverage.
It was wet.
He looked at his gloved hand. Even with just the dim light from the flashlight, he could see his glove was splotched with red.
Blood?
Graham looked perplexed at his hand. Something wasn’t right. They were stuck in a storm, that was all. But something had happened here. Suddenly the numbness his body felt from the winter cold was joined by another state of frozen: fear.
He leaned back out of the cab, noticing a red smear along the air vents on the dashboard, dripping down onto a puddle of blood on the floor mat.
Chapter Four
Dean Hagen loosened his tie as he sat in the rented sports coupe behind the tractor-trailer stretched across the road. He had been cranking the heat full blast earlier and now was too warm in the cramped car, even considering the miserable conditions of the night. Though he had shut off the heat more than an hour ago, he was still sweating.
What a bitch this night was, he thought, squirming in his seat. He had taken a last-minute flight from Alaska after the phone call from his mother. His father had slipped on some ice and cracked his hip and was now in intensive care at the hospital. Then the rental company gave him this piece-of-shit car to drive in this fucking storm. A sports coupe? But they didn’t have anything else left, so he was stuck with it. And stuck was the appropriate word. Though judging from the disabled tractor-trailer truck in front of him, he could have been driving a tank and it wouldn’t have mattered on a night like this.
Even the roads in Alaska hadn’t been this bad this winter. He had been on a consulting assignment for the past two months there, winnowing out the expendable employees at a manufacturing plant. It was what he did and he was good at it, getting rid of people, and he got paid very well to make businesses run more efficiently.
People at the firms he encountered always fell into two categories: those who ignored him and made no eye contact, hoping he’d not know who they were, even though he had all their files; or the people who went out of their way to interact with him, telling him about their kids or ill parents they took care of, trying to get sympathy from him. It made no difference. It came down to job importance and what could be done without. Not so much what, but whom. Only Dean’s wife understood how his job affected him.
Dean hated that it had to be done at Christmas. It soured his mood. He pushed for a delay till after the holidays, but the owners of the plant wanted it finished with before Christmas, so two days ago Dean had turned in his recommendations and the owners signed the termination notices and handed them out. Christmas was going to suck for a lot of people there.
And now it was sucking for him. Would someone come to help on the highway? Did anyone even know he and the others were trapped out here?
The guy he had talked to earlier had stopped on his way back to his car and informed Dean of the situation up ahead: an abandoned snowplow and no way to get through the road. Things were really bad if even the snowplows got stuck.
There was something unsettled in the man’s face that didn’t sit well with Dean. Something about him didn’t look right, as if the guy knew more but didn’t want to say.
But Dean didn’t keep his window down long enough to hear any more. He knew he needed to keep warm. It could be a long night. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He was warm enough now so he took off his suit jacket and loosened his tie some more. God, it had actually gotten really hot in here. Whatever he thought of this piece-of-crap car, the heater sure worked well.
He cracked the window a tiny bit. Some snow blew in, but the cool air actually felt good. Dean shut off his windshield wipers. What was the point? The snow quickly blanketed the windshield, darkening the interior of the car.
Dean undid his tie and took it off. It felt like it was choking him, making it hard to breathe. He also undid the top couple buttons of his shirt. That felt better. The air from the opening in the window cooled him off a bit.
He wondered how his dad was doing. What a hell of a thing to happen ri
ght before Christmas. Dean never came home this time of year, usually always on the road somewhere. For some reason, companies liked to downsize this time of year. Cut loose the slack before feeling obligated to hand out holiday bonuses.
Summer was the only time he returned to see the folks and spend some time lying in the sun at the beach. Hot like this, he thought, as he removed his vest and tossed it on top of his suit coat on the passenger seat beside him. He cranked the window down a bit more, paying no heed to the snowflakes drifting in and melting on the warm vinyl interior.
Dean undid the buttons on his shirt cuffs and rolled up his sleeves.
Damn, it was still warm in here.
Chapter Five
Kirk Britton sat behind the wheel of his hatchback, trying to remember something.
He held his girlfriend’s hand, which was surprisingly clammy. His gloves and winter cap were on the dashboard by the heating vents drying, the snow caked on them melting, forming little rivulets of water that ran down the dashboard.
It was temperate in the car, and the numbness in his arms had finally gone away. He had taken off his ski vest and thrown it on the floor of the back seat. It was soaked from the wet sticky snow. The sleeves of his sweater were still damp, but he was getting more comfortable. He kept the heater on for Sonya’s sake. She was scared. He could see it as he looked into her dark brown eyes, which had grown moist as she looked on the verge of tears. The warmth inside the car gave her some comfort from the ferocity of the storm outside.
“We’ll be okay,” he said, squeezing her hand.
She looked at him with those sad eyes and tried cracking a smile. That’s my girl, he thought, smiling back. He turned the windshield wipers on again, and they struggled to push the wet snow away before returning to their resting place when he shut them off. Kirk did this every few minutes to give them some visibility into the world raging outside their car. It helped keep them from feeling claustrophobic.
As he gazed at the stranded vehicles in front of him, he couldn’t help but wonder if seeing what lay ahead of them made the situation seem even more hopeless. Maybe it would be better to let the windshield stay covered. But no, that made the car feel like a coffin, so every few minutes he hit the switch. He noticed he had to do it quicker each time, because the snow was building up faster, which meant the storm wasn’t slowing down any, only getting stronger.
“Think of this as an adventure,” he said.
“I didn’t need Christmas Eve to be an adventure,” she replied, and it came out almost as a giggle.
Kirk was worried she’d get hysterical. That wouldn’t be good trapped in the confines of the car. He’d seen her get like that before a big midterm or final exam. It wasn’t pretty.
He wished he could slide up closer to her, but the console between the seats provided a barrier. He leaned over as far as he could and with his free hand brushed the wisps of brown hair from where they clung to her cheek.
“I’m sorry I got us into this mess,” he offered.
She pouted. “It’s not your fault.”
But it was. They should have left the campus as soon as winter break hit, but he had told her that he couldn’t get out of his work schedule. He drove the Zamboni for the campus rink and the college hockey team hosted its annual holiday tournament, which didn’t finish till last night. He told her that he’d got stuck with the ice-making duty for the game. That was a lie. He’d actually volunteered to work the tournament, making up a story about having the shortest commute home for the holiday, so he got the gig. He’d lied to her because he couldn’t tell her the real reason. It was a worthwhile lie. She would know soon enough, but for now, the reason was hidden in his suitcase in the back of the hatchback.
And because of him they were snowbound on this turnpike, heading to her parents’ for the holiday. Kirk had planned a big surprise for Sonya on Christmas morning, and now it looked like it might not get here. At least, not in the way he intended.
He hit the windshield button again. The motor of the blades whirred as the wipers pushed the snow. What it cleared off the glass was forming a wedge of ice on either side of the windshield, narrowing their view with every stroke. At this rate, the wipers would become useless and their visibility diminished.
For now, Kirk could see the big sedan in front of him, the vehicle belonging to the guy he had gone with up to the front of the road jam. The man had been awfully quiet after he had checked inside the snowplow, barely saying a word on the way back to their cars. Something was bugging him.
Of course, Kirk couldn’t talk to Sonya about that. No need to worry her any more than she already was. Nothing had been accomplished by going outside, except Kirk nearly froze his arms off. They concluded that they were stuck and going nowhere and there was nothing to do but get back in their vehicles and wait for help. He looked at his gas gauge – plenty of fuel to keep the car running and warm, so that wasn’t a problem. Still, something someone had said before they’d split up and returned to their vehicles had resonated in the back of Kirk’s mind. He just couldn’t remember what it was. It had seemed important.
“What if no one comes for us?” Sonya asked, inching closer to him.
Kirk laughed at the ludicrousness of the question. “Of course someone’s going to come,” he said. “They have to check the roads. They’ll know people are traveling on the highway. Another plow is bound to come by. They have to keep trying to keep the roads clear.”
“I just wish the phones worked,” Sonya said. “I wish I could call my parents. They must be worried to death.”
He stroked her hair again. He couldn’t help but agree with her, but there was nothing they could do. The storm had knocked out any phone service. He glanced behind at their belongings behind the rear seat, specifically at their snowshoes. They had planned to do some snowshoeing on Sonya’s parents’ land. They lived in an old farmhouse surrounded by more than fifty acres, and they were going to explore it. Kirk had met Sonya in the outdoor club at college and they shared a lot of the same interests. They soon fell in love – well maybe him first, but her eventually. They only had one semester before graduation and beginning the next chapter in their lives.
“I have an idea,” Kirk said, and saw the hopeful look in Sonya’s eyes. “We could put our snowshoes on and try to hike our way out of here.” He raised an eyebrow for emphasis, as if wanting to be praised for coming up with a solution.
Sonya’s eyes widened. “Are you crazy?” Her gaze turned to the windshield, her mouth agape. “Look at it out there. We’d die before we got very far. And where would we even go? There’s nothing but woods. Do you even know how far it is to the next exit? I have no idea. I can’t even tell where we are, and I’ve been traveling this way most of my life.”
She didn’t need to say that much to show him how ridiculous his suggestion was, and he felt dejected. But he wanted to be heroic and strong for her. She might not be able to make the walk out of here, but maybe he could alone. He’d hate leaving her here in the car, but if he could find help.… She turned to him and placed a palm on his cheek. “It’s sweet of you to try,” she said, leaning forward and pressing her lips against his. They were surprisingly warm. “I wish we could get closer.”
He glanced behind them. “There’s a blanket in the hatch. Let’s get in the back seat and cover up under it. We’re probably going to be here awhile, might as well get comfortable.”
“I like that idea,” she giggled.
They climbed into the back seat, and Kirk rummaged around in the hatch area, pulling a wool throw blanket from beneath one of their suitcases. It had their college mascot of a cougar and the school’s logo on it. He unfurled it and draped it over them. Sonya sidled up beside him, pressing her body up against his, and they lay back on the seat. He pulled her close and slipped an arm around her shoulder. She rested her head on his chest.
“Much better,” she whispere
d with a sigh.
He smiled. This felt good and right. He hoped it would always feel like this.
In the front of the car, the snow piled up on the windshield.
Kirk still tried to remember what it was he was forgetting.
Chapter Six
Shelby Wallace sat behind the steering wheel of her minivan, silently cursing her ex-husband. It was because of him that she was stuck in this storm, and even though her vehicle hadn’t moved in a couple hours, she still gripped the wheel tight, her knuckles almost as white as the snow piled up on the windows. Her children in the back seat had opposite responses to their predicament. Luke, who was eight, exhibited excitement, as if they were on some great adventure. His sister, Macey, two years older, pouted with frustration, a hint of fright seeping through her tense eyes.
Shelby related to her daughter’s emotion, but didn’t want to show the kids her own fear. She was the parent and needed to keep on a brave face for their sakes. She tried to find some Christmas music on the radio to distract the kids, but only static poured out of the speakers, the storm disrupting whatever stations were in the area. The music would have been a blessing. Instead, the whining from the back seat of the van frayed her nerves even more than the storm. It was all she could do to keep from screaming at them.
“Can I go outside?” Luke asked in a squeaky voice.
“No!” Shelby said. “It’s really bad out there.”
“Can I at least put the window down? I can’t see anything.”
“You’ll let all the cold air in,” Macey said, shocked that he would even suggest the idea.
“Leave the windows up,” Shelby shouted back, casting her sternest look at him in the rearview mirror. She wished the kids would just fall asleep. But it was hard enough getting kids to sleep in all the excitement of Christmas Eve, never mind being trapped in a raging blizzard.
“Will Santa still come if we’re not home in time?” Luke asked with genuine concern.
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