Page 3 of Snowbound

They dart into the bathroom, then a few minutes later, emerge again, the woman looking all around like she’s afraid to get caught using the restrooms without buying anything. As they go, I catch a snippet of their hushed conversation and start to paint a picture of a journey where they’ve been arguing about not using the gas station bathroom the whole way.

They drive away, leaving me alone with the echo of the radio playing generic pop music softly on the crackly speakers.

“Hey,” says the guy behind the counter to get my attention. I turn back to him, and he places a paper bag in front of me. “Here you go.”

“Thank you so much,” I say. “This is just what I needed.”

“Where are you heading to next?” he asks, clearly desperate for someone to talk to.

“Michigan,” I say sheepishly. Saying it out loud reminds me of just what a stupid plan this is. “I’m headed to a place just outside Grand Rapids.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “You’ve got a long way to go. You take care now in this storm. Rest here a while before you go on, okay?” He slides a frozen milkshake towards me and winks. “On the house.”

I grin at him and slide onto a table by the window to eat.

In the end, I don’t stay long at all because the quiet starts to freak me out. I finish my burger as fast as I can and thank the guy again as I leave. The milkshake was kind, but it freezes my fingers as I rush back to my car. Just the idea of drinking it makes me shiver.

Somehow, in the half hour I was gone, a fine layer of snow accumulated on my car. It’s so cold that I have to sit in the parking lot for a moment to let it warm up enough to be comfortable to drive.

And then I’m back on the road.

Ohio drifts by in a blizzard, the Great Lakes and Canada just a spitting distance north, and my home hundreds of miles east. By the time I’m approaching the Michigan border, night is starting to fall and visibility is dropping even more.

My GPS tells me there’s road work and a crash near Detroit, as well as traffic on the highway, so it recommends a detour down some back roads. I don’t love the idea of driving on back roads in conditions like this and when I’m tired, but it’s going to save me at least half an hour. With over an hour left to go, reducing the time seems like a great idea.

I head north up the highway for a while, then turn off onto streets with no stores, no houses, and no streetlights. Though I don’t want to, I’m forced to slow down as the snow thickens and I can’t see more than a few feet in front of me. The roads are getting slippery too with ice. I doubt anyone comes around to so much as salt these roads, let alone clear them. My car is small, and I keep feeling the wheels slide as they lose traction. I don’t want to admit it, but I’m scared.

Soon, this will be over. I’ll be in a nice hotel with a hot bath and an included dinner, and I’ll drink wine and sleep well and plan my way home in stages. I’m not doing this drive like this again, especially not in this weather. This has been hell.

I must have been distracted by my thoughts for a split second too long as I started fantasizing about a hot bath because, in that moment, I hit a pothole, hard. The car bounces up and down and I let out an involuntary squeal, gripping the steering wheel in terror.

The car crunches horribly and hits a patch of ice, sending it spinning. I’m flung back in my seat, unable to do anything but pray that I’m not about to die in the cold. I spin and spin and get jolted hard as I come off the road, metal creaking around me, the engine groaning to a forced halt, the tires sounding like an explosion as they burst.

Finally, the car grinds to a halt in a snowdrift, the snow coming up to the hood.

It’s silent. Completely silent. Completely dark.

With my hands shaking, I try turning the key. Nothing. I try again and again, willing something to happen.

It doesn’t.

A choked sob escapes me.

I don’t know anything about cars, and even if I did, I don’t think I’d be able to fix whatever the problem is on my own. That pothole felt deep, and at least one of my tires is wrecked beyond repair. I want to get out and look, but I’m terrified of opening the door and letting the warm air out.

If I don’t get out of here soon, it’s going to get dangerously cold. The single blanket I brought isn’t going to do much.

I have never felt so alone.

My next thought is to call someone, but obviously I can’t get a signal. That would be too easy. Not only that, but my phone battery is low. I should save it, but I need to get help from someone, somewhere. It feels like a bad idea to get out in the snow and walk blindly into the night, but there must be civilization around here somewhere, right?

Right?

Then, like an angel descending, headlights shine bright in my mirrors. A truck slows to a halt beside me, and a man steps out. He’s tall and broad, with a severe look on his bearded face. Not exactly the guy you want to come and rescue you when you’re all alone in the night.

He raps on my window, making me jump, and slowly, I open the door a crack. “Hello?”

“I was driving by, and it looked like you could use help,” he rumbles, his voice deep and rugged. Definitely a local. I tighten my grip on the door handle. Though if he really wanted to drag me out, I don’t doubt he could overpower me. That thought makes me feel sick. He continues, “I’m a mechanic, see?”

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