I-90 Freezeout

VOCAL SNOW FICTION CHALLENGE 2.9.24

I-90 Freeze-Out

Hands gripped tight on the wheel, head hunched forward, Sam searched the snowy landscape for a turnout. Some place to rest, a hiding spot. His back ached from seven hours of driving in the tense position.

I’ve gotta get off this road; I’m a dead man if I don’t.

The view through the Ford’s windshield was all black ice and snow drifts. Dirty, exhaust-stained drifts; beyond the roadway a stand of dark pine hid who knew what. Sam didn’t want to find out. He kept pushing the Fairlane.

Fumbling around for his pack of smokes, he punched in the car’s lighter, then tried the radio again. Reception out here was iffy. Especially after midnight and it was nearing three a.m. He’d pulled out of Wenatchee at eleven, hit Lookout Pass around three-thirty; Billings was about three hours ahead. Sam checked the gas gauge:

Half a tank should be enough.

Just as he lit up a Marlboro Red, the lights appeared in the rearview. Coming faster than a sane person would drive in a blizzard—which this surely was—a good mile behind.

Sam white-knuckled it, pushed the Ford as hard as he dared, up to seventy.

The Dodge interceptor closed the distance to a hundred yards and the State Trooper’s red lights began flashing. Sam swore. It was over. He decelerated, pulled off onto the shoulder, and lowered his window.

As the Trooper approached, Sam flicked the Marlboro butt at the Statie’s feet.

“Smokey the Bear can kiss my ass!”