The only logical explanation I had for the suddenly viscous air was that I was driving through a low cloud. The cool moisture seemed to seep through the heating vents. A shiver went through me, and my earlier fantasy about driving into another world seemed to be coming true. Only it wasn't exciting or exhilarating, like reaching the next level on a video game. It was downright terrifying.
I slowed my car to a crawl and prayed that some blowhard with rocks for brains didn't come barreling up the road behind me. But I didn't see anyone. Not even a hint of life. It was just me and my old car and a shroud of fog.
Full on panic was about to set in just as the fog seemed to lighten. The feathery tufts of white air rolled up and off my windshield, and as I drove around the next curve, it disappeared completely.
My sigh of relief was cut short by the landscape in front of me. I was no longer on a twisting mountain road. A snowy landscape rolled out in front of me that reminded me of the picture on a Christmas card. The landscape was mostly flat, with the occasional soft rolling hill to give it some dimension. Tall pines, dripping with icicles and burdened with mounds of snow, dotted the otherwise pure white countryside. Countryside? How the heck was that possible? I'd been traveling up a mountain. The only explanation I could devise in my baffled mind was that I'd found a terrace of flat land within the mountain range. Geographically, it didn't make much sense but then what the heck did I know about landforms?
I picked up my phone to take a quick glimpse at the route. I hadn't switched roads, and there was only one that I knew of leading up to the ski lifts so I wasn't worried. I rubbed my thumb across the screen. The map popped on for a second and then disappeared completely. I rubbed my phone again. Nothing. Obviously, I was driving through a dead zone. There couldn't be any other explanation for it.
I placed the phone down and kept driving. In the distance, I could see a huge cloud of powdery snow drifting up from the landscape. A snow plow or kids playing, I concluded. It was the first sign of civilization since the fog had cleared, and I was relieved to see it.
I drove along and watched as the cloud of snow moved through the landscape. Suddenly, a chrome and black snowmobile exploded through the powder. Another one followed right behind. The two riders were clad in motorcycle helmets, chest plates, thick leather gloves and boots. They were racing, motocross style, but on the snow.
The lead machine made an impressive leap in the air and then landed in a pile of fresh snow before kicking out a white rooster tail and racing away. The second machine was in close pursuit.
I pulled my eyes back to the road. A white hill of snow loomed in the distance as if it had just popped up in the landscape. I squinted through my pasty looking windshield at the silhouette of the house on top of the hill. It was the house on the Silk Stocking Inn website. My mind was so busy trying to logic out the scene in front of me, I'd forgotten that I was driving.
"Ah shit!" I gasped as my tires dropped a foot down and my car skidded off the road and came to an abrupt stop in a pile of snow. I put the car in reverse and pressed the gas pedal, but I only seemed to dig myself deeper into the bank. Seconds later, my car shut off as if some of its moving parts had seized up with the cold.
With the defroster and heat no longer running, the inside of the car turned glacial almost instantly. Most of the car's front end had vanished into the snow bank. I had to shove the door hard to get it open. As I stepped out, the loud rumble of a motor vibrated the frozen ground beneath my feet.
I spun around and a puff of white air followed my gasp. The snowmobile racer had pulled up behind my car. He turned off the engine and stood up from the bike. From my vantage point in the ditch, he looked twice the size of an average man. His black helmet was topped with a mohawk of chrome spikes. His black chest protector and dark tinted goggles made him look nothing short of scary.
My heart raced as I considered all the ways this could end. I was stranded in a snow bank on a deserted road, and a menacing man, who looked as if he could use a pine tree as a toothpick, was standing ten feet away.
The rider pulled off his helmet, and some of the earlier fright was replaced with surprise. "Oh my," I whispered to myself. The words left a white puff of air in front of my mouth.
The man set the helmet on the seat. He reached up and rubbed his dark cropped hair with his gloved hand. It stood up all over his head. Swirls of black ink climbed up past the chest protector and along the side of his neck. I was sure there were plenty of tattoos beneath the racing gear. He moved closer. My mind was telling me to back up, but my feet were frozen in place, not from the cold but from shock. His dark green gaze looked familiar, and as my eyes took in the handsome face, with its chiseled jaw and black beard stubble, I remembered where I'd seen the eyes before. Dizziness swept over me, and I swayed back. The giant stranger moved with graceful speed as he closed the gap between us. His arm curved around my back to keep me from falling.
"Whoa there, I've got you."
I closed my eyes to erase the dizzy spell, then opened them slowly, wondering if he'd still be there. Since his steel arm was hooked around me, I was fairly certain of it. The deep green of his eyes held just enough worry to assure me that I wasn't in danger.
I forced a smile. "I'm fine. You can let me go," I said the words aloud, but inside my head I was thinking 'or you can hold me longer too'. I wouldn't complain.
Cautiously, he lowered his arm. "Guess you took a wrong turn somewhere. I can pull your car free with my snowmobile."
"Thank you. That would be great. I'm expected up at Swanson's Ski Lodge. My friends will be worried."
Confusion wasn't a good look on most people, but he pulled it off just fine. In fact, I was sure every expression would look fine on him. I knew that for certain because I'd just spent months designing a video game hero who could easily have been his twin.
"Swanson's Lodge?" he asked. "Don't think I've heard of it."
"How's that possible?"
"Don't know. Anyhow, I'll get the rope."
"Thank you, Mr. Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't get your name.”
He stuck out a huge black glove. My small blue glove got lost in it. "Name's Holt."
My throat went dry, and I had to consciously remember to breathe. "No. No, it can't be."
His perfectly shaped brow lifted. "Yep, I'm pretty sure that's my name."
"That just can't be your name."
"No? Then I guess I should call my mom and let her know she sewed the wrong name into my underwear when I was a kid."
I shook my head and looked around to see if my surroundings were real. Then with some trepidation, I glanced through the back window of my car to see if I was still inside slumped dead over the wheel. Nope. The car was empty. I was alive, it seemed. Only, it felt very much like I was in a dream or having an out of body experience of some kind. It had to just be a crazy coincidence.
"Holt, huh?"
"Yep." He turned around and headed to the snowmobile.
"As long as your name isn't Ziggy," I said more to myself than to him. But my words stopped him in his tracks. Literally. He turned back around and stomped toward me.
This time, I took a step back.
"What did you say?"
I shrugged nervously beneath the puffy down of my coat. "I just said as long as your name's not Ziggy." My head felt light again. "Is it?"
Without a word and with his green gaze glued to my face, he yanked the sleeve of his coat back along his arm. There, in black letters, running along the steel like cords of his forearm, were the letters Z-i-g-g-y.