“Mom?” I asked.
No reply.
I hit the button on my seat belt, but the buckle didn’t release. “Dad?”
No reply.
I reached out into the darkness with both arms, trying to find the back of my dad’s seat. Straining forward, I found his headrest and then the softness of his hair. I rubbed it. Tears were forming in my eyes, now. “Dad?”
His head was heavy and didn’t move. He was either unconscious or….
“Mom?!” My voice was cracking, now. I reached out towards her, but she was diagonally across the car from me and I couldn’t reach her. After a moment, though, I heard the most welcome sound in the world: breathing “Mom! Mom, wake up! We crashed! Dad’s hurt! Wake up!”
But she didn’t stir. Unconscious. Maybe dad’s just unconscious, too. Maybe he’s just breathing too quietly for me to hear him. I started to wrestle with my seat belt, but the buckle was firmly jammed in its socket. I seemed to be unhurt, but I couldn’t move. Eventually, I gave a howl of frustration.
And then something dripped onto my leg. Something warm and wet, from up above me and in front, where my mom was sitting. I rubbed it between my fingers. Thick and sticky.
Blood.
“Mom?” Tears were rolling down my cheeks, now, and threatening to choke my voice off completely. “Mom, you have to wake up now!” I banged around in my seat, trying to make a noise, but it made no difference.
I waited for all the things you see on TV: wailing sirens and firefighters cutting us free and wrapping blankets around us, and doctors hurrying to help my parents. But nothing happened. No one came. It hit me that there’d been no one behind us on the road. No one had seen us go off the edge.
Going out for a drive had been a spur of the moment thing. No one knew we were out there.
And it was still snowing. Now that my eyes were adjusting to the darkness, I could just make out the shape of the flakes, softly settling on the side window that was now directly above me. The snow would cover up our tire tracks.
Suddenly, the car lit up with sound and light. My phone. My phone! It had shot off my lap during the crash and was now somewhere in the front of the car. I couldn’t see it, but I could hear the insistent, slightly tinny dance music I’d set as the ring tone and see the glow of its screen. My friend Dana. All I had to do was hit Answer and I could tell her to call for help.
I strained against my seat belt, but it wouldn’t release. I tried to pull it away from me so that I could wriggle out from under it, but something had happened to the reel the belt comes out of. It let me have half an inch of belt and then locked tight, refusing to pay out any more. However much I twisted and struggled, there wasn’t nearly enough room for me to slip out.
Dana gave up, and the music stopped. A few seconds later, the screen powered down and the car was plunged back into blackness. After the glow, it seemed even darker than before.
There was a tiny groan from my mom and I heard her move slightly. I screamed her name as hard as I could, but she didn’t wake. Another drop of blood hit my leg and then another, falling faster, now.
For the next few hours, I tried everything I could think of. I used my feet to try to reach for my phone, but it was too far away. I tried to gnaw through the seat belt with my teeth, but I barely made a dent on the fabric. I knew that no one would be able to see the car in the darkness and I prayed for morning.
But the side window, above me, grew darker and darker, shutting out even the faint light of the stars. The sound of the wind grew muffled and then stopped altogether. There was utter silence, as thick and terrifying as I’d ever known it, and utter darkness. The snow was burying us. By morning, there’d just be a drift.#p#分页标题#e#
The temperature started to drop. Without the heater on, the car shed all its heat into the snow. By midnight, I was losing feeling in my hands and feet. Then I started to shake and couldn’t stop. The air in the car started to grow stale and I wondered how tightly we were sealed in.
I screamed my mom and dad’s names more times than I can remember. But neither of them woke and all I could do was fixate on my mom’s ragged breathing, willing her to keep going.
A faint light filled the car, sunlight filtered through a layer of snow. Each time I thought I heard a distant car, I yelled until I was hoarse. But I knew it was useless. I was in a sealed car, under snow, and the other drivers would have their windows shut against the cold.
And then, just as the light outside grew brightest and I figured it was noon, my mom stopped breathing. And the cold in the car crept into me, burrowing down into my heart and my soul and froze me solid.