Page 2 of A Snowstorm & A Stronghorn

The smell of gasoline grows stronger, and panic surges through me. I need to get out of here. Now.

I reach for the door handle, but it’s jammed. The frame is warped, trapping me inside. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps as I look around frantically for another way out.

The passenger side. It’s my only option.

I twist in my seat, wincing at the pain that shoots through my ribs. The duffel bag that holds most of my important possessions, sits on the passenger seat, miraculously undisturbed by the crash. I grab it, clutching it to my chest like a lifeline.

I can’t reach the suitcases in the backseat, and I couldn’t pull them along behind me in this snow even if I could. I’ll just have to hope the car can’t catch fire with it snowing so hard, but there’s nothing irreplaceable in those bags.

With shaking hands, I manage to open the passenger door. Cold air and snow rush in, stinging my face. I stumble out of the car, my legs buckling as I hit the ground.

The snow is deep, coming up to my knees. I’m wearing stylish leather boots that go to my knees as well, but snow seeps in. I wade through it, putting as much distance between myself andthe car as I can. The smell of gasoline lingers in the air, and I don’t want to stick around to see if it ignites.

Once I’m about fifty feet away, I turn back to look at the wreckage. My little blue sedan is a crumpled mess, steam rising from the hood in the frigid air. The tree it hit stands firm, barely a scratch on its thick trunk.

“Dammit,” I whisper, tears stinging my eyes. That car was the last big purchase I made from the job I had for two years after college, before my mom got sick. Now it’s gone—along with most of my belongings if the gasoline somehow sparks and blows it all up. At least it will offer an SOS beacon if that happens. Like a signal fire on a deserted island.

I shake my head at the thought, feeling dizzy when I do so. I dig into my coat pocket, fishing out my cell phone. My fingers are already going numb from the cold, making it difficult to operate the touch screen. When I finally manage to pull up the phone app, my heart sinks.

No service.

Of course. Because why would anything go right tonight?

I shove the phone back in my pocket and hug my duffel bag closer. At least I have my most important possessions—the photo albums, my mom’s jewelry, the quilt she made me when I left for college, identification, and financial documents, along with my credit and debit cards. Everything else can be replaced.

The wind whips around me, driving snow into my face and hair. I need to find shelter, and fast, but in this whiteout, I can barely see ten feet in front of me. For all I know, I could be miles from the nearest town or house.

“Think, Fiona,” I say aloud, my voice immediately swallowed by the howling wind. “What would Mom do?”

I close my eyes, picturing her face. Her bright blue eyes, crinkled at the corners from years of laughter. The dusting offreckles across her nose, so similar to my own. The way she’d tap her chin when she was thinking hard about something.

“First things first, love,” I hear her voice in my head, though it’s my imagination inspired by memories, not a ghostly remnant of my mother’s essence. “You need to get out of this storm.”

I open my eyelids, scanning the area around me. Through the curtain of snow, I make out the dark shapes of trees. The forest. It’s not ideal, but it might offer some protection from the wind.

Taking a deep breath, I start trudging through the snow toward the treeline. Each step is a struggle with the deep snow threatening to trip me up. My ribs ache with every movement, a constant reminder of the crash, and I’m still dizzy.

As I reach the first trees, the wind dies down slightly. The thick evergreen branches provide some shelter from the relentless snow. I push deeper into the forest, searching for anything that might serve as a temporary refuge.

I trudge through the endless sea of white, each step a battle against the relentless snow. Minutes stretch into what feels like hours, but I can’t be sure. The unfamiliar landscape offers no landmarks, and no way to gauge my progress. Time loses all meaning as I stumble through the woods. My feet are numb, and my face stings from the cold. The duffel bag grows heavier with each step, but I refuse to let it go. It’s all I have left of my old life.

My legs burn with exertion, muscles screaming in protest as I force myself to keep moving. The cold seeps through my clothes, numbing my skin and clouding my thoughts. I clutch my duffel bag closer, thinking of all I’ve lost.

“Just keep going,” I mutter through chattering teeth. “One foot in front of the other.”

The wind howls, drowning out my words. Snow pelts my face, stinging my eyes and cheeks. I squint against the onslaught, searching desperately for any sign of shelter or civilization.

Without warning, my body begins to hum. A strange tingling sensation washes over me, starting at my toes and racing up to the top of my head. It’s as if I’ve stepped through an invisible curtain of static electricity. My skin prickles, and the hair on my arms stands on end.

The air around me seems to crackle with an unseen energy, making my teeth ache and my fingertips buzz. The feeling intensifies for a few steps, each footfall sending shockwaves of this bizarre sensation through my body. Then, as abruptly as it began, it fades, leaving me feeling oddly hollow in its wake.

I pause, disoriented by the strange occurrence. My head swims, and I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision of imaginary sparks.

“What was that?” I wonder aloud to the howling wind. The storm swallows my words, turning them into wisps of frozen breath that disappear into the swirling snow.

For a moment, I consider turning back, retracing my steps to find that odd spot again. I pivot on my heel, squinting through the white-out conditions behind me. The urge to investigate tugs at my curiosity, a small voice in my head whispering that this might be important.

Then a particularly vicious gust of wind cuts through my coat, chilling me to the bone. The promise of shelter, of warmth, floods my mind, pushing aside all other concerns. I can almost feel phantom heat on my frozen cheeks and imagine a blanket around my shoulders.

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