More Bedtime Stories for the Apocalypse (14 page)

Dale set his jaw in a rigid line. “I bet
it’s a lot longer for all those cars we’ve seen in the ditch.”

“
One car,” Linda said. “One car in the
ditch.”

“
Three,” Dale countered. “Just because
you didn’t see them doesn’t mean they weren’t there.” He blinked.
“Why don’t you just put the seat back and close your eyes. Try to
sleep.”

“
I would if I could find some decent
music.” She futzed with the radio dial, and then turned it
off.

Dale put a little more pressure on the gas,
hoping to shut her up. They’d just dropped Alison, their youngest,
off at the university after a two-week long winter break. In good
weather, the drive was two hours, past farmland and forest, but
tonight they’d already driven two hours and were barely halfway
home.

“
That’s more like it grandpa,” Linda
said.

Ah yes, there it was;
grandpa
. But
he
never got speeding tickets.
He
never caused their
insurance rates to increase.

He tried not to let his rising anger
interfere with his concentration.
Don’t let it get to
you
.

Ahh…but it had been good to see Alison and
David again.

It was Alison’s first year away from home.
She seemed to have adjusted to campus life quite well, the calls
home growing less frequent as the first semester wore on. Their son
David was an accountant in Las Vegas, of all places, and it had
been great that he’d been able to take a week off and fly out to
see them. Now it was just the two of them again. Dale and Linda.
Their twenty-sixth anniversary was fast approaching, and now they
were a couple of empty nesters.

A couple of empty nesters on the verge of –
d
ivorce
. Dare he think it? Dare he
say
it? It
became easier to contemplate the more he said it out loud to
himself in front of the bathroom mirror.
Linda – I want a
divorce
. He didn’t look forward to what would come after
uttering – no,
saying with conviction
– those words. But
this week he was ready to do it. Or next week, for sure. At least
before spring break rolled around.

The kids would understand. Surely they had
felt the tension these last half-dozen or so years. The mostly
silent, but occasionally loud, nasty tension. And really, Linda
shouldn’t be too surprised. Perhaps she’d even welcome it. They
weren’t getting any younger. And they certainly weren’t getting any
happier.

Dale squinted through the maddening
reflection of snow in the headlights. There was a glow up ahead,
growing quickly; a snow plow moving slowly in the left lane, its
many bright lights illuminating a globe of snow dancing around
it.

“
Oh great,” Dale muttered. “Just what
the doctor ordered.”

“
Hmm?” Linda said. “What
now?”

Dale said, “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

“
Tshh.”

The massive wall of snow created by the plow
was largest on its left side where the plow pushed into the wide
median. But with the wind blowing so hard, the snow wasn’t neatly
corralled. Gouts of it flew in every direction, and the plows
lights and Dale’s headlights turned the uprooted and falling snow
on both sides of the plow into white sheets.

Dale slowed and eased in behind the powerful
vehicle. Thirty miles an hour. Twenty-five. Dale adjusted his
glasses. This drive just got a bit longer, he thought.

To get around the plow meant he’d have to
pass it on the right side and hope the plow didn’t suddenly change
lanes, since surely the driver wouldn’t be able to see Dale’s
compact Toyota sneaking past him. It also meant he’d have to drive
through that blinding wall of snow and ice the plow kicked up,
taking a leap of faith that he’d come through the other side free
and clear. He’d literally be driving blind while passing the thing.
If a deer happened to be on the road, or God forbid, a stuck
vehicle, then that would put a quick stop to
this
little
jaunt home.

He glanced over at Linda, hoping her eyes
were closed. Instead, her head was turned toward him, eyes on his
eyes, an annoying smirk on her lips as if to say,
You don’t have
the guts
. He quickly faced forward again. But he could feel it
on him – that smirk, that stupid
you don’t have the guts,
grampa
, smirk.

He tightened his grip. Took a deep breath.
Focused.
Go for it
. Just step on the gas, and for a few
brief moments take that leap of faith. At least then she couldn’t
call him gramps. Not
this
night.

He pressed his foot on the gas and drove
into a blinding, furious wall of whiteness.

Luckily, when their white compact flew off
the road and rolled four times down the hill, both Linda and Dale
had their seatbelts on. Luckily, too, the frame of the car held as
it was meant to when it finally came to rest on its roof in the
deep snow. The snow softened the impact and cradled the car. At
first, the only thing that seemed to have gone wrong was that the
window of the driver’s door had cracked, and the door had bent out
an inch, letting in a cold draught.

All was quiet save for the whistle of wind
through the door, and the gasps and panicked breathing of Dale and
Linda as their minds finally caught up to their present
reality.

It had happened so fast. Dale was
disoriented, trying to make sense of what he saw. Something dug
painfully into his chest and gut. And his glasses – where had they
gone?

I’m upside down
, he realized. The
seatbelt – it held him in place, pressing painfully across his
chest and nestling beneath the base of his growing potbelly. He
felt a cold stream of air caress his face. He knew that the windows
had been rolled up tight, the heater on, and now somehow the cold
air was entering the car stinging his cheeks.

What
time
is it? It seemed important
to know, but there was no glow from the digital clock readout, no
lights on in the car whatsoever.
The engine died
.

He remembered his daughter.
Oh god
.
He was about to call out her name, but then he remembered; they
already dropped her off at school.

There was the highway and the snow and
then...

The plow.

And –

“
Linda!” he gasped. He turned his head
slowly to his right. It hurt to do so, but he didn’t think anything
was broken. He saw her silhouette, black against slightly lighter
black. She was also strapped in, and her feet, like his, rested on
the undercarriage of the dashboard. Gravity pulled at her long
hair, splaying it across the roof.

“
Linda?”

She didn’t answer.

“
Linda!”

He sensed movement in the dark. Her hand
moved to her face. She groaned. “What happened?”

Something bubbled out of Dale’s nostril and
ran down along the side of his nose into his right eye. Blood? “We
were passing a plow, and...”

“
Jesus,” Linda said.

“
Where’s your phone?” Dale asked. He
pressed the release button on his seatbelt, but it wouldn’t give.
Stuck
.

Linda moaned “Geez, I hurt.”

“
Your phone – can you reach
it?”

“
I don’t know. It hurts to move. What
about your’s?”

“
It’s in my pocket, but I can’t quite
– if I could get this belt unbuckled, then maybe...” He tried the
button again, pressing until his fingers went numb.
Damn
.
Totally stuck.

But wait.
There
. He felt the flat,
rectangular shape of the phone in his jean’s front right pocket. It
would take some work, but maybe...

His jeans were too tight, and with the
seatbelt there and the way his hips and torso were angled, he
couldn’t get his fingers inside his pocket, but if he pressed on
the edge of the phone through the denim, perhaps he could coax it
out just enough so that he could grab it.

There. It gave slightly. But...

He paused. “Linda? How are you doing?”

She didn’t answer.

“
Linda?”

Another moan. “I think I’m hurt pretty bad,”
she said.

It hurt to take a full breath. His nose
continued bleeding, and the resulting trickle ran past the inside
corner of his eye, over his brow, and collected in his scalp.
“Anything broken?” he asked. “Are you bleeding?”

“
I don’t know. It’s hard to
breathe.”

Am I okay?
Dale wondered. What about
internal damage? At least the nosebleed won’t kill me, will it?

He tried untucking his shirt to press
against his nose, but the buckle held it tightly in place. When he
tried lifting his left arm to his face, he realized it was numb. He
flexed his fingers.

There. The feeling of pins and needles as
blood flowed back into his hand.

How bad is Linda, though?

He listened to her breathing. It sounded
labored. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he turned to
look at her again. But without his glasses, she was blurry.

“
The plow,” he said. “The driver
must’ve seen us go off the road. I’m sure he called
someone.”

Linda didn’t answer.

He envied her in that at least she had kept
her winter coat on. He couldn’t stand wearing his while driving,
especially with the heater on. His coat was in the back somewhere,
his gloves in the pockets of the coat, his knit winter cap (that
Alison had made him as a sophomore in high school) stuffed in one
of the sleeves.

“
Linda?” he said.

“
Stop,” Linda said.

“
What?”

“
Stop asking if I’m okay. It hurts to
talk.”

“
Oh.”

He could slide the phone out if he really
tried, but…

A nagging thought.

At first he tried resisting it, but he let
the thought out a little at a time, let it surface in his brain bit
by bit just to see how it felt. Like when he first started thinking
of the D-word.

And the way the thought felt scared him.
Because the thought felt sort of –

Good
.

He
could
slide the phone out if he
really tried, but –

“
I can’t get my phone out. It’s really
stuck,” he said.

Linda groaned.

“
I’m trying, but it’s too damn tight
in there.”

How bad was she, really? Did she need to get
to the hospital right away? Was this a life or death situation?

That nagging thought…bit by bit…

He shivered. His breath came out in gray
wisps.

If she needs a doctor, how soon does she
need one?
Really
need one?

And here, that nagging thought that felt a
little too good…

Can I wait her out?

The cold wind whistled through the door like
an out-of-tune clarinet. It bit at his cheek. He felt dizzy; he
wanted so badly to suck in a deep, deep breath, but it hurt
whenever he tried filling his lungs.

Can I wait her out?

It would make things easier in the long run,
wouldn’t it? If he asked her for a divorce, he knew she would not
just go gently into that good night. It would be bitter. Costly.
But this way…

Insurance money
.

The kids would be devastated, of course. But
they’re not really kids anymore, are they? And at least
this
way, he wouldn’t be the asshole. Not in their eyes, nor the eyes of
the public. All anyone would know was that it was an accident.

And it
was
an accident. It wouldn’t
be murder if he just outlasted her, would it? Not in the eyes of
the cops at least. Especially if he was in a little worse shape. If
his hand, for example…

He took a deep breath and raised his right
hand, flexing his fingers. How long until dawn? How long until
someone spotted them? He grit his teeth, anticipating the pain.

Come on, do it!

He punched the windshield as hard as he
could. Something broke. Not the windshield – his fingers. God, it
hurt! He didn’t know how many he’d broken, but ow, ow, ow, God, it
was enough, wasn’t it?

“
What happened?” Linda asked, panic in
her voice.

Dale bit back the pain as best he could.
Fresh blood dripped from his nose, into his eye, over his forehead,
into his scalp.

He felt lightheaded, and the pain in his
hand blossomed into something he’d never felt before.

Oh God that fucking
hurt!

“
I couldn’t feel my hand,” he lied. “I
thought if I could get some feeling back into it, I could get my
keys. I didn’t think I’d hit the window so hard.”

An opportunity
; that’s what this was.
How many times had Linda accused him of squandering perfectly good
opportunities?

He’d sure done a number on his hand, though.
He really was screwed if he needed his phone in the morning. But
surely
someone
will find us in the morning.

Damn, it was cold in here. The icy stream of
wind kissed his face as blood continued to slowly bubble out of his
nose. And his hand; was that bleeding now, too?

“
How are you doing?” he
asked.

Linda didn’t answer. How long did he need to
wait?

‘
Til morning. Just ‘til morning. ‘Til
daylight revealed their overturned car. Would it be enough
time?

He shivered. Tried to say, “I love you,” but
couldn’t summon the courage for such a simple, yet blatant lie. Not
now.

Another bout of shivering overcame him.

It wasn’t murder, was it? Outlasting her
wasn’t
really
murder.