The Storm

It was Christmas Eve. I was driving home at one a.m. Light snow flurries drifted from the sky, disappearing quickly from view as my windshield wipers swept them away. The road lights were dim, and the road was icy. Bing Crosby's White Christmas echoed dolefully through the car radio speakers. I shook my head, trying to stay awake. I attributed this fatigue to the fact that I moved around a lot as a kid and slept in the car.

Why didn't you leave at ten Carry? I chastised myself, taking a big gulp of an energy drink I kept in the console for such a mistake. It doesn't always help; I knew I was in trouble tonight. I could feel the weight of sleep bearing down on my brain, my head bobbed, and I jerked awake, almost swerving into the next lane. My Mom had asked if I wanted to stay the night. I should have. I was almost home, though, and just had to make it the next ten miles.

I could hear the water rushing high and swift below me. The lights penetrated just a few feet in front of me.

The headlights revealed a sign for Ridgeway Bridge. I took a deep breath and drove forward onto the old wooden slats. The front of the car dipped forward, top-heavy due to the engine.

Then I slid.

I pumped the brakes, and the car drifted slowly into the side of the bridge, grinding up against the railing. I rolled my window down and looked over the door. I was met by more blackness and couldn't see why my wheels were spinning. I put the car in park, removed the keys from the ignition, and stepped out. My feet were met with a rushing puddle of freezing water up to my ankles.

I opened the trunk and pulled out a flashlight, shining the light around the bridge. The rising river had utterly consumed it. A tree branch or small log was wedged between the undercarriage. I knelt and grabbed the end with both hands, pulling and shimmying it towards me until it became unstuck, and I slid it out, tossing it over the bridge.

A chill shot up my spine, and not just from the cold. I was completely unnerved. I returned to my car and turned it on, putting it in reverse and slowly rolling back into drive. I wouldn't fall asleep now. I mused, shivering and drenched. My hands felt frozen and stiff. Why didn't I pack gloves? I asked no one.

The road was flooded, too, and an emergency alert came on over the music, making my heart skip a beat.

"Winter storm warning, high flood warning," the announcer spoke, "possible road closures, stay home if possible."

"No kidding," I whispered, half annoyed at myself and the announcer.

Ten more miles to go. I pressed on hoping to see an open patch of road soon.

The road was washed out, too. I didn't know how bad it was until the water started pouring in through the bottom and sides of the door. The wheels must have lost contact with the road because, within five minutes of driving off the bridge, I was being pushed downstream, and the rush of the water quickly picked up speed. I clung tight to the steering wheel and stared wide-eyed at the black void engulfing me. I absentmindedly wondered if this was what it felt like to be sucked into a black hole.

The front of the car dipped forward. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, shaking so badly I almost dropped it in the water. I wasn't controlling the car, so I let go of the steering wheel and tried to call 911.

I couldn't get a signal and felt the car filling with more water, pressing down into the depths of the temporary river forming around me. The freezing water was over my waist now, and I couldn't return my phone without it being destroyed. I slipped it into the front top pocket of my jacket and zipped it closed, knowing it was futile. The car's mechanics had already stopped as the engine flooded; everything was dead.

I opened the glove box and grabbed a tool with a window-breaking point on the bottom of it. I never thought I'd use this two years ago when I won it at an outdoor expo. Remembering the demonstration, I aimed it at the weakest point at the corner of the window. It didn't work right away. The water was up to my chest now. I took deep, slow breaths and aimed again; this time, it cracked hard across the pain, crackling, perpendicular across the window. it didn't shatter like it did in the demonstration, and then I remembered, it only works like that on tempered glass. I pulled my wet jacket sleeve over my hand and pushed as hard as I could. The window came loose and crumpled like glitter stuck on thick, tacky paper.

I pulled myself out, back facing forward, and wrenched myself up, pressing my hands on the upper lip of the window.

The top of the car was wet, making it difficult to grip. I felt myself tipping backward at this odd angle and knew that I was about to fall into the water.

Something hit the car.

I felt a heavy thud come from somewhere behind the car as the current pushed a heavy but smaller object into it. I lost my grip and fell backward into the mucky, swirling river.

I felt things in the water scraping against my skin. I tried desperately to remain afloat and kicked and thrust with my arms and legs with all my might. I felt weak and cold. The storm raged, the river groaned, and my muscles cramped up. My head smacked hard against something, and everything went dark.

My eyes opened heavy and slow. Bright, colorful dots swam in my vision, Blurry, red, green, yellow, and blue lights slowly came into focus. Bing Crosby's White Christmas played steady and slow. A Christmas tree perched in the corner by a fireplace, glowing gently and warm with a simmering fire, created a welcome and warm feeling.

"Wakey, wakey, Carry." My younger brother walked into the room, nudging at my arm. "We're about to open presents, come on," he said and hurried back out.

I sat up, rubbing at my eyes, my heart still beating violently in my chest. I took a deep breath and looked around. I'd fallen asleep on the living room couch while everyone was visiting in the family room. I stood up and walked to the bay window, kneeling against the window seat, and pulled open the blinds, looking out into the blizzard, the dark and the cold.

"Hey, Carry," My Mom walked in. "We're about to open presents. Are you coming?" she asked, waiting in the doorway.

"Uh, yeah," I muttered.

"That storm looks pretty bad, you know. You're welcome to stay the night."

I wrapped my arms across my chest and turned to look at her. I could have sworn she'd already asked me that.

"You know what, yeah, that'd be great, thanks!" I smiled.

"Great," she beamed. You can take your old room at the end of the hall. Your sister and her family are going to camp out in the family room, and your brothers going to sleep on the couch in the basement."

"Sounds perfect," I smiled.

As she walked away I looked once more out the window at my car, covered in snow, parked in front of the side yard, right next to the driveway. It had all felt and seemed so real. I could have sworn that my mom had already asked me that. We'd opened presents, had hot apple cider, shared past Christmas memories, and then said our good buys.

I almost died. It was so real, I could have sworn...

"Carry," my family called from the other room.

I shrugged it off and tried to enjoy the rest of the evening, though, somehow, I knew what everyone's presents were before they opened them.

The End