Up ahead, several cars piled up against the concrete barrier. The barrier separated the northbound and southbound lanes. The bridge had three lanes of travel and a wide breakdown lane, but the cars took up most of that space. Robby guided his big vehicle all the way to the right side of the bridge to even have a chance of getting by.
The view to his right terrified him, so Robby focused on the wrecked cars. The two on the left appeared empty, but Robby suspected if he checked closer he would find an exploded-eye corpse collapsed behind each steering wheel. In the third car from the left, Robby saw at least two people slumped together in the front seat. The lump in the back seat might have been a shoulder—Robby couldn’t tell. In the car immediately next to Robby, the back seat held a boy about Robby’s own age.
The boy wore a dark sweater over a collared shirt. His eyes splattered the top half of the window, but the boy’s face slouched against the bottom of the pane. The boy’s nose and cheek pressed against the inside of the glass. His mouth hung open, flattened on the left side, like a capital D.
Robby inched by the trunk of the car. He glanced to his right several times to verify he wasn’t going to hit the guardrail, but it bothered Robby to look away from the boy’s gaping face. Despite the exploded eyes, Robby couldn’t shake the feeling the boy was staring right at him. Worse, actually, it seemed like the boy looked just over Robby’s shoulder at some terrible menace that his gaping mouth wanted to warn Robby about. Now Robby split his attention in three directions. He stared at the boy, stole glances to the right to make sure he wasn’t going to hit the guardrail, and spun around frantically to make sure nothing was sneaking up behind him from the back seat.
Robby tried to catch his breath and settle down, but it wouldn’t come. His panting brought even more panic. The right front tire of the SUV hit the curb and Robby jerked the wheel to the left. With no room to spare, the adjustment forced Robby’s SUV to tag the corner of the boy’s wrecked car. The jolt shifted the boy’s corpse and the boy’s face slid down the window a little farther. The boy’s hand was pressed right against the glass, like he was either banging to get out or executing the world’s slowest wave. Robby held his breath and stared at the boy’s hand.
When had the boy’s hand moved to the glass, he wondered.
Before, only the boy’s face had been visible—where had the hand come from?
Robby’s SUV idled forward, shaking the boy’s car even more. For the first time, Robby looked past the boy to the front seat and saw the dead bald man turned in his direction as well. Robby’s brain invented the upcoming scene in double speed. He imagined the gory occupants of the boy’s car scrambling towards his SUV and banging on the windows while dark clots of half-dried blood oozed from their eye sockets.
Panic overtook Robby’s legs and he jabbed the accelerator. The SUV bucked back to the right and up over the curb as the back tires squealed. Robby didn’t—couldn’t—look away from the dead boy’s car until the SUV’s right quarter panel began to grind into the guardrail. He jerked the wheel back to the left and stomped on the accelerator. The wrecked car deflected the back of the SUV until the right rear tire made contact with the curb and the SUV shot forward, clearing itself of the constriction. Robby steered frantically, trying to keep between the center wall and the guardrail. He locked his knees as the SUV continued to accelerate. Robby focused all his attention on his arms, not realizing he was standing on the gas pedal.
Up ahead a car towing a rental trailer had rolled into the right guardrail and stood nearly perpendicular to the road. Robby nudged the wheel left and then overcorrected back to the right, trying to target the thin gap between the center wall and the trailer while he continued to accelerate. The side of the rental trailer read “Wyoming,” in big sweeping letters. Under the state name, a bronco bucked, kicking its back legs towards the gap where Robby aimed his vehicle.
His common sense returned a split-second too late. Robby lifted his feet and stomped both onto the brake pedal. The tires chirped briefly before the throbbing anti-lock brake system kicked in. The vibration of the pulsing brakes ran up through the steering wheel and numbed Robby’s hands.
It wouldn’t stop fast enough—he would hit either the trailer or the divider between the north and southbound lanes unless he threaded the gap perfectly. Robby aimed slightly more towards the wall. As the trailer and wall rushed towards him, Robby strained his legs against the pulsing pedal, thinking if he could somehow press harder he would stop faster. His left bumper hit the wall first and straightened out the SUV. From the sound, it seemed the whole left side of the SUV was being peeled away from the frame. Robby gritted his teeth as the SUV finally came to a stop.
He’d wedged his vehicle right between the center wall and the trailer. Robby applied the gas. The rim of his front tire ground against the concrete, so he turned the wheel to the right to get some distance. On his right, the trailer shook as Robby nudged past. Up ahead, the road looked totally clear. Robby sighed with relief as he finally pulled by the trailer and left the sounds of grinding metal behind him.
He traveled almost two seconds before his spirits fell again. Although the grinding sounds diminished, a new rumbling sound took its place. Along with the new sound, the wheel of the SUV pulled to the side and resisted Robby’s attempts to drive straight. Robby stopped again, shifted to park, and took off his seat belt. He leaned out the driver’s window and then the passenger’s—he saw a flat tire on either side. The right rear tire merely looked deflated; the front left tire appeared shredded.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Inland - FALL
Dear Karen,
Each day it gets colder. Each day the snow gets deeper. I used the rest of the plywood on the path out to the wood pile. When the snow banks grew higher than my head, it got too difficult to keep shoveling the path out. So, one day I took the plywood out there and wedged it into the walls above my head. The first day I could still see cracks of light between the sheets and a blue halo around the plywood where some light was leaking through. But after just one day, the tunnel was completely dark. Who knows how much snow is packed above my tunnel?
I do know how much snow has drifted out front. I could park the snowmobile on the second floor if it would fit through a window. If it gets much deeper, I might have to. I wonder what’s happened to the rest of the world. I bet everybody has moved into emergency shelters at the schools and public buildings. That’s where I would go, if I could. They’re probably finding it easier to keep big places operational. I haven’t been able to get any stations on the radio. Reception always was pretty bad here, but you’d think I would at least get the emergency broadcast system or something.
The living room is still pretty comfortable thanks to the wood stove. I kept the blankets up between the rooms—they help keep the heat concentrated.
The pipes burst in the extremities of the house. I went down to the basement yesterday with a flashlight and I could see ice blooming out from several joints in the heat and water pipes. Oh well—looks like a complete re-plumbing job when this whole situation gets resolved. Insurance should cover at least part of it. Assuming the insurance companies don’t all go out of business when this storm is done.
For the moment, I’ve managed to keep the pipes to the septic system from freezing. I think they’re beginning to clog though. The water threatens to backup and overflow every time I flush. On top of the house the chimney sits in a little bowl of snow which has melted and refrozen into ice. I went up there to make sure it wasn’t going to get blocked and kill me when the exhaust backed up. I haven’t seen anything coming or going from the hole out back by the garage. I wonder if the hole is still in use? I figure it has been abandoned, since I haven’t seen or heard anything, but who knows?