The dog is loping along with us, like he’s out for a pleasant walk instead of a mad dash for safety.
The horn blares again.
All my dreams—family, a house, a dog, the job I’ve wanted since middle school—flash by in an instant.
And then we make it to the side of the road.
I almost stop at the edge of it, but Caleb drags me further into the drifts. “Gotta get clear,” he grits. “Keep going.”
So we do.
As the snow comes up knee-deep, the heavy downshift of gears adds to the blaring horn.
Caleb’s arm comes around me when I stumble, pulling me up again.
“I’ve got you,” he says. “I won’t let you fall.”
And strangely, though we only just met, I believe him.
Just as we’re approaching the treeline, tires screech.
This is it,a terrified voice shouts in my head.It’s all over. You survived once. You won’t be that lucky again.
My body braces for impact. For the inevitable agony.
Then.
There’s a terrible sound of tearing metal and shattering glass.
A second horn blares as if it’s in pain.
Caleb yanks me behind him, clasping me to his body with one arm. “Fuck!” he hisses. “Fuck.”
As the relief of not being dead subsides, fear replaces it.
What was that sound?
No, Iknowwhat it was. But whose car was it?
Then I peer around Caleb’s arm, and I know.
It wasmycar.
My shelter.
Now crumpled against the large grill of the tractor-trailer, the entire front end smashed into it.
A low moan works its way up my throat.
Tears spring to my eyes. My nose burns.
The dog whines and butts my leg with his head.
Caleb turns to me with a regretful expression. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
It takes a second to speak past the lump in my throat. “Mycar.” One hazard is still blinking weakly. “The hazard lights. I left them on…”
“The snow,” he replies. “The driver… Shit.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “I’ll call 911.”
