Page 3 of Her Mountain Christmas
Done.
I blink when I glance at the clock, surprised to see I’ve been driving for hours now. I’m the only car out on the roads, and the snow is falling in thick, heavy flakes now. Gusts of wind push against the car, and I grip the wheel so tightly my knuckles start to ache. I watch for signs along the side of the road to tell me exactly where I am, but none appear. I pull over and fish my phone out of my purse, trying to pull up Google Maps. But there’s no service. I can’t connect to a signal.
I try the GPS built into the dash of my car. I haven’t used it because I think my parents can track where I am with it, but it doesn’t matter, because it doesn’t connect either.
“Okay,” I say, blowing out a breath and easing back onto the road. “I’ll just keep my eyes peeled for a place to stop. There’s got to be something along here. It’ll be fine. Everything’s fine.”
With both hands on the wheel, I lean forward, peering intently through the windshield as the wipers work furiously to clear the flakes. Wind howls, pushing against the car, and I know that this isn’t just a little snowstorm anymore. This is a full on blizzard.
The world outside my car is a maelstrom of white, and I can’t tell where the road ends and the ditch begins. I’m driving purely on instinct, praying I stay on the road. There has to be something ahead. A motel. A gas station. Something. Anything. I need to get off the road. And I can’t just pull over because I’ll freeze. I need to find a place to stop.
Visibility is so poor that I don’t see the curve until it’s too late, and I yank on the steering wheel, over-correcting in an attempt to stay on the road. I feel the tires lock and slide, the car veering sideways, and suddenly, I’m not in control anymore.
This is not the time for a fucking metaphor about my life, Universe. Just FYI.
The world outside my windshield spins sickeningly, the headlights sweeping in a wild arc against the relentless snow. My heart is in my throat as I grip the steering wheel for dear life, the car sliding across the road.
It’s as though everything drops into slow motion. I can see everything with crystalline detail—the snowflakes dancing in the headlights, the shiny patches of ice on the road, the ditch spinning slowly closer.
And there’s nothing I can do but wait to see where I crash.
The car slams into the ditch, the airbags go off, and the seatbelt digs into my chest. I scrunch my eyes shut, pain pounding through me as the car shudders to a jolting stop. The engine sputters and stalls out, shuddering the car in complete silence save for my ragged breathing and the wind howling outside.
I suck in a breath and take a quick inventory. I pry my fingers off the wheel, flexing them, then move my legs. I’m sore, but I don’t think I’m seriously hurt.
Thank you, Universe, sorry for my earlier sarcasm.
I take a breath, and then another one. My hands are shaking, my heart pounding chaotically. I feel a bit nauseous. I manage to find my purse and my phone, but I still have no signal. No way to call for help. Wind rocks the car, and I shiver.
I’m stranded. I’m alone. No one knows where I am. It’s freezing out here, and soon, the car will be covered in snow.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, hot tears streaking down my cheeks. “I’m gonna die out here. Oh my god.” More tears fall, and a sense of despair so overwhelming it takes my breath away consumes me.
Two
Jack
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel of my truck and turn up the wipers. The snow’s coming down fast and furious now, pelting the windshield and sticking to the road, making the surface slick and dangerous. I hope everyone does the sensible thing and stays off the roads tonight because I’ve just finished a twenty-four hour shift at the fire station, and I have zero desire to go back.
I will if I have to, obviously. As the fire chief of Honey Ridge, I do more than my fair share of overtime, and normally I don’t mind. But I’m tired tonight. We were busy, what with the snow and what I call the hazards of the season—people falling off ladders putting up Christmas lights, leaving candles or stoves unattended, having too much to drink and making foolish decisions.
I slow as I take a curve, driving home along the highway to my house on the outskirts of Honey Ridge. The roads are shit tonight. Absolute shit. Given that it rained this morning before the temperature plummeted, I’m guessing there’s agood amount of black ice under the blowing snow. Visibility’s officially shit, too. I slow even more and turn the wipers up to full speed. They can barely keep up with the flakes, batting them away almost as quickly as they fall.
I’m glad there aren’t any other cars on the road. I know how to handle this kind of weather, but not everyone does.
I take another curve, even slower now, and that’s when I see the tire marks veering off the road. Adrenaline surges and my pulse spikes. I’m instantly on high alert, fire chief Jack taking over for tired and slightly grumpy Jack. I slow, inching closer, eyes scanning left and right, and then I see it. There’s a snow-covered car firmly in the ditch, hazard lights on. I don’t see any footprints, and from what I can tell there’s no movement inside the car.
Fuck.
Putting on my own hazards, I pull off to the side of the road, in behind the wrecked car. It’s hard to tell with the snow obscuring everything, but it looks like they came around the curve too fast, lost control, and slammed into the ditch on the side of the road. The terrain here is rocky, and depending on how fast they were going, it could’ve been a pretty hard collision.
I leave my truck running as I grab my flashlight and my emergency kit, then step out into the storm to investigate. I turn the flashlight on, catching a glimpse of a partially snow-covered BMW logo, and I sigh. Probably some rich kid from the city here to ski for the weekend.
“Damn city kids don’t know how to drive out here,” I mutter as I approach, flashlight sweeping back and forth as I look for footprints, blood, debris, assessing the scene.
I step up to the driver’s side window, leaning in towards the awkwardly tipped car. And even though there’s a fucking blizzard swirling around me, it’s what I see inside that makes me stop cold.
It’s not some kid behind the wheel. It’s a woman. She’s on the younger side, yes, but most definitely not a kid.
