Page 1 of A Snowstorm & A Stronghorn

Chapter 1

THE MONTANA LANDSCAPEstretches before me, a vast expanse of snow-dusted hills and distant mountains. I grip the steering wheel as I navigate the winding road, the occasional snowflake drifting past my windshield. The evening sky is clear, a deep indigo canvas dotted with emerging stars.

I glance at the dashboard clock: 7:43 p.m. The next town is still miles away, but I’d decided to push on, hoping to cover more ground before stopping for the night. Now, as darkness settles over the land, I question that choice.

“You always were stubborn, Fiona,” I mutter, imagining my mother’s gentle admonishment. The thought of Elspeth sends a fresh wave of grief through me, and I blink back tears.

It’s been two months since I lost her. Two months of sorting through a lifetime of memories, of packing up our home, and of trying to figure out what comes next. The road stretches endlessly before me, much like the uncertain future I face.

I fiddle with the radio, searching for a station to break the silence. Static crackles through the speakers, punctuated by snippets of country music and talk shows. I settle on a classic rock station, letting the familiar chords of a Fleetwood Mac song fill the car.

“Remember how we used to sing along to this one, Mom?” I say aloud. “You’d always get the lyrics wrong, but you belted them out anyway.”

The memory brings a bittersweet smile to my face. For a moment, I can almost hear my mother’s off-key warbling andsee her fiery red hair—so like my own—bobbing as she torso-danced in the passenger seat.

The song fades out, replaced by a weather update. I turn up the volume, and an announcer assures me it’s going to be a cold, clear night. I peer through the windshield and see only stars twinkling against the darkness.

“Good weather for traveling,” I say aloud. The promise of a warm bed and a hot shower in the next town beckons. I press on, expecting no problems with the weather..

For the next twenty minutes, the drive remains uneventful. The road winds through a forested area, tall pines looming on either side. I hum along to the radio, trying to ignore the gnawing emptiness in my chest.

Then, without warning, the world outside my windshield transforms.

One moment, I’m driving under a clear night sky. The next, I’m engulfed in a whiteout. Snow whips past my car in horizontal sheets, obscuring everything beyond the hood. The abruptness of the change is jarring, almost unnatural.

“What the hell?” I blink and gasp, instinctively easing my foot off the gas.

The wind howls, a high-pitched keening that drowns out the radio. Snow pelts the windshield faster than the wipers can clear it. Visibility drops to near zero in a matter of seconds.

My mouth gets dry as I strain to see the road ahead. The yellow center line, my only guide, appears and disappears in the swirling white. I slow to a crawl, maintaining a hard grip on the steering wheel.

The silence inside the car is eerie, broken only by the muffled roar of the wind and the rhythmic swish of the wipers. I lean forward, peering through the small clear patch on the windshield, searching desperately for any landmark or sign of the shoulder.

“Come on,” I mutter, willing some break in the endless white to appear.

My headlights illuminate only a wall of swirling snow. I can’t tell if I’m still on the road, or if I’ve drifted onto the shoulder. The thought of ending up in a ditch, alone in this storm, makes me tremble.

I ease my foot onto the brake, slowing even further. My gaze darts from the road to the rearview mirror, terrified of being rear-ended by another vehicle, but there’s no sign of headlights behind me. It’s as if I’m the only person left in the world, swallowed up by this freakish storm.

A dark shape looms suddenly in my peripheral vision. I jerk the wheel instinctively, narrowly avoiding what turns out to be a road sign. My heart pounds as I realize how close I came to a collision.

Taking deep breaths, my hands tremble on the steering wheel as I try to regain control. The blinding snow swirls around my car, making it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. I inch forward, straining to make out any landmarks or signs of the road.

“Come on, Fiona,” I mutter to myself. “You can do this. Just find the shoulder and pull over.”

I squint through the windshield, searching for the faint outline of the road’s edge. My headlights illuminate nothing but a wall of white. The wind howls, rattling the car and drowning out the radio’s static.

Suddenly, the steering wheel jerks in my hands. The tires lose traction, and the world spins. My stomach lurches as the car slides sideways. I slam on the brakes, but it’s too late.

A sickening crunch of metal and the sharp crack of breaking glass fills the air. My body lurches forward then snaps back against the seat. Pain explodes in my head as it connects with something hard.

For a moment, everything goes dark.

When I come to, the world is tilted at an odd angle. Snow drifts in through the shattered driver’s side window, dusting my hair and eyelashes. The acrid smell of gasoline fills my nostrils, making me gag.

“Oh, no.” I groan, fumbling with my seatbelt. My fingers feel thick and clumsy, and it takes several attempts before I manage to release the clasp.

I blink, trying to clear my vision. The windshield is a spiderweb of cracks, but through it, I can make out the dark shape of a tree trunk. My car is wrapped around it, steam rising from the crumpled hood.

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