embankment. Dan stood on the brake, but thirty-seven hundred pounds wouldnât stop without friction. Newtonâs observation of bodies in motion was flawless. The weight of the vehicle pulled it nose-first down the hill until it slammed into a tree. With a burst, the air bag deployed, then deflated. The car had come to a stop, tipped at a sharp angle, nose down, front fender bent around the trunk of a young pine.
Danâs heart beat like a rabbit running for its life, and heâd broken out in a cold sweat. He gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, frozen to his seat. The engine now hummed with a rhythmic chirp every other beat, but all the readouts on the dash were normal. Whatever damage the Volvo had suffered was minor and mostly external, which meant it was still drivable and could possibly get Dan out of this mess.
He shifted into reverse and stepped on the gas. The wheels spun with a high-pitched whine and rocked the vehicle side to side, but it got nowhere. Dan unhooked his seat belt and stepped out into the cold and snow and wind. The swirling flakes nearly blinded him. Holding on to the vehicleâs panels, he climbed through the two-inch deep snow to the back of the car and saw that the roadway was only another five feet beyond it. And the embankment wasnât as steep as heâd thought. He still had a chance.
Entering the vehicle again, he shifted into reverse and stepped on the gas pedal, pumping it to give the tires a chance to either grab fresh snow or work their way down to the grass beneath it. The tires whined and the car pistoned back and forth as if it were tethered to a spring.
Eventually the tires gained some traction and the vehicle climbed the bank, swerving as the tread dug into the wet grass beneath the snow. But just before the rear tires crested the hill, the tail end slipped sideways, pushing the tires into fresh snow. They lost their grip and drifted to the right. Dan hit the brake but it did no good. Gravity had taken over. The corner of the front bumper bounced off the pine, pushing the car farther to the right.
Clutching the steering wheel like it was a serpent that would unwind itself and bite him, Dan leaned on the brake pedal and grunted. But the momentum of the vehicle pulled it more to the right and down the hill. Arms rigid, Dan braced himself against the back of the seat. Snow beat at the vehicleâs windows like a white angel of death demanding entrance. But his time wasnât up yet. Heâd been promised seven hours.
The car accelerated down the hill and Dan continued mashing the brake pedal to the floorboard, hoping in a fit of panic that somehow, someway, the tires would find purchase in the loose snow.
The world came to a jarring stop with a terrible crunch of metal and breaking glass. Danâs arms buckled at the elbows, and he hit the steering wheel with enough force that for an instant everything went bright whiteâthe black dash and control panel, the clock and radio and disc player, the interior cloth and molded plastic all disappeared. Then an inky blackness surrounded and finally overcame him.
12
The alarm sounded the same time it did every morning, pulling Dan Blakely from his dream. Slowly he lifted his head and immediately groaned. It hadnât been a dream. He wasnât in his bedroom, and the sound he heard was not the alarm clock obnoxiously signaling 7 a.m. His head throbbed and jaw ached. He was in his car, pointed downhill. The engine had cut out but the radio had somehow been turned on and retuned and now played âRing of Fireâ by Johnny Cash. Outside the cabin, snow spiraled and accumulated on the windshield.
The beeping, not unlike that of a carâs horn, continued, not as steady as his alarm clock but just as annoying.
Dan rubbed his eyes and checked his watchâ3:59. An hour had passed since leaving the gas station.
He pushed back in the seat and stared at the windshield. A crack, like a fault
Danâs heart beat like a rabbit running for its life, and heâd broken out in a cold sweat. He gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, frozen to his seat. The engine now hummed with a rhythmic chirp every other beat, but all the readouts on the dash were normal. Whatever damage the Volvo had suffered was minor and mostly external, which meant it was still drivable and could possibly get Dan out of this mess.
He shifted into reverse and stepped on the gas. The wheels spun with a high-pitched whine and rocked the vehicle side to side, but it got nowhere. Dan unhooked his seat belt and stepped out into the cold and snow and wind. The swirling flakes nearly blinded him. Holding on to the vehicleâs panels, he climbed through the two-inch deep snow to the back of the car and saw that the roadway was only another five feet beyond it. And the embankment wasnât as steep as heâd thought. He still had a chance.
Entering the vehicle again, he shifted into reverse and stepped on the gas pedal, pumping it to give the tires a chance to either grab fresh snow or work their way down to the grass beneath it. The tires whined and the car pistoned back and forth as if it were tethered to a spring.
Eventually the tires gained some traction and the vehicle climbed the bank, swerving as the tread dug into the wet grass beneath the snow. But just before the rear tires crested the hill, the tail end slipped sideways, pushing the tires into fresh snow. They lost their grip and drifted to the right. Dan hit the brake but it did no good. Gravity had taken over. The corner of the front bumper bounced off the pine, pushing the car farther to the right.
Clutching the steering wheel like it was a serpent that would unwind itself and bite him, Dan leaned on the brake pedal and grunted. But the momentum of the vehicle pulled it more to the right and down the hill. Arms rigid, Dan braced himself against the back of the seat. Snow beat at the vehicleâs windows like a white angel of death demanding entrance. But his time wasnât up yet. Heâd been promised seven hours.
The car accelerated down the hill and Dan continued mashing the brake pedal to the floorboard, hoping in a fit of panic that somehow, someway, the tires would find purchase in the loose snow.
The world came to a jarring stop with a terrible crunch of metal and breaking glass. Danâs arms buckled at the elbows, and he hit the steering wheel with enough force that for an instant everything went bright whiteâthe black dash and control panel, the clock and radio and disc player, the interior cloth and molded plastic all disappeared. Then an inky blackness surrounded and finally overcame him.
12
The alarm sounded the same time it did every morning, pulling Dan Blakely from his dream. Slowly he lifted his head and immediately groaned. It hadnât been a dream. He wasnât in his bedroom, and the sound he heard was not the alarm clock obnoxiously signaling 7 a.m. His head throbbed and jaw ached. He was in his car, pointed downhill. The engine had cut out but the radio had somehow been turned on and retuned and now played âRing of Fireâ by Johnny Cash. Outside the cabin, snow spiraled and accumulated on the windshield.
The beeping, not unlike that of a carâs horn, continued, not as steady as his alarm clock but just as annoying.
Dan rubbed his eyes and checked his watchâ3:59. An hour had passed since leaving the gas station.
He pushed back in the seat and stared at the windshield. A crack, like a fault
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