Dawn was still a paleglow in the east when Green shivered himself awake.
He had never been so happy to see sunlight.
He pushed the ignition button and curled his whole body around the dash vents, willing the heater to sprint up to temperature.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.”
The words felt clumsy.
He brought fingers to his mouth, worried what he might find.
His lips felt intact. There was a bloody napkin stuck to his face. He peeled it away with a Velcro tearing sound.
The birds were so loud. Too loud. Movie-pterodactyl loud. Had birds always been so loud at dawn?
He stayed huddled close to the dash for five full minutes. His bladder screamed at him. There was a dull fire burning in his face. His hands and feet ached with cold.
He blew his nose and gagged at the brown and red globs on the napkin.
He coughed and spit and worked to clear his airways, praying he didn’t start the bleeding again.
A hundred things screamed for his attention, but he just wanted to be warm. Warmth meant some control over his environment.
He shivered and rocked and cupped hands over his frozen ears, feeling the air from his broken windshield duking it out with the heater for control of the space.
Dancer’s voice startled a gasp from him.
“Yikes. On. Bikes,” she said.
Green looked up to see the woman, perfectly framed by the hole in his windshield. She was carrying a huge red plaid thermos and staring with unmasked shock.
“Green! You alive in there?”
He couldn’t bring himself to chat through the shattered glass. He nodded. His nose throbbed with the motion. He took a deep breath and steeled himself as he pushed open the door.
“Green? Talk to me, bud.”
His body felt terrible, like a hangover on a cellular level. The bridge of his nose pulsed with electric shocks in time with his heartbeat. A little avalanche of glass rolled off his clothes and tinkled on the gravel as he stood. He needed to pee so badly that standing was a kick in the gut.
He winced.
“Morning, Dancer.”
Any chance you’re more of a morning-type serial killer?
He tried to sound composed, but the words felt insane.
“Good morning, Dancer? Are you funnin’ me? What’s good about your morning? You look like crime scene photos come to life. You’re shivering like a Chihuahua. Your face is honestly disturbing and it looks like you sailed your car into an eighteenth-century naval battle.”
“Yeah,” Green said.
“Yeah? What did this? Don’t tell me a black bear did…this.”
Green shook his head.
A wave of nausea hit him and he slumped against the car until it passed.
She leaned forward and made an exasperatedgo ongesture.
