Chapter 10
10
Time stands still for a full second.
Everything freezes. The moment when my front fender makes contact with the tree seems to last an eternity, and the hood of my car crumples in slow motion. For a split second, I can make out every individual snowflake hovering in the frigid air outside my windshield. The airbag inflates gracefully, like a balloon.
Then time starts up again, and I realize I am completely screwed.
The airbag did not, in actuality, inflate gracefully. It blew up in a millisecond and smacked me in the face. I think my nose might be bleeding. And because the front of the car is crushed—and it wasn’t a great car to begin with—the dashboard has pinned my thighs to the seat.
The crash itself was loud, but now everything has gone quiet. The engine is silent. The phone call has been disconnected, and there’s no sign of the pop station that had been playing in the background just before I got the call. There’s smoke billowing out from the hood, although it’s hard to say with all the snow starting to accumulate on the windshield. The wipers are frozen mid-wipe.
I pause for a moment to take inventory of my situation. I glance up at the rearview mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of my face. I can see my forehead, and there is a large lump bulging over my right eye. I must’ve bumped it before the airbag inflated, or else the airbag did it to me. Either way, I got a good knock on the head.
What’s your name?
I’m Tegan Werner. I am thirty-five weeks pregnant. I’m twenty-three years old. My birthday is on November 20.
Okay, I still know who I am. So I don’t seem to have a severe head injury at least.
Next I check my arms. I curl my fingers into fists and open them up again. I can still move them. My arms still work.
Now the really scary part—my legs.
The dashboard collapsed slightly, and my legs are pinned underneath. I try to move them, attempting to free myself and…
Nope.
My right leg moves okay, but when I attempt to move my left leg, which is the one closest to the driver’s door, a white-hot jab of pain shoots up from my ankle all the way to my spinal cord. I had been complaining about that electric pain in my right leg, but this makes that pain seem like a paper cut. This is agony .
This is really, really bad. My left ankle is injured, possibly broken. And as far as I can tell, there’s nobody else on this road. Not for miles. If there were any chance of walking for help in this mountain of snow, I can’t do it now. Not with an injured ankle and while heavily pregnant.
Several years ago, my brother was in an accident just like this—also on an icy road. He broke his leg in several places so that he couldn’t get out of the car, and when I rushed to his side at the hospital, he recounted that it took an hour before someone found him. It was the scariest hour of my life, Teggie.
It took an hour for him to be found. And that wasn’t even in a storm. It’s far less likely someone will come upon me now, given the snow swirling around outside with increasing ferocity. I could be stuck here all night.
Another terrible thought occurs to me. Since the moment my car made impact with the tree, I haven’t felt anything from within my belly. Up until now, my baby has been so active, she keeps me awake at night, pummeling me in the ribs. But now she’s not moving at all.
I place my hand on the bulge of my abdomen. “Tuna?” I whisper. “Are you okay?”
There’s no kick in response.
Oh no. No, no, no… I could deal with a broken ankle. But if anything happened to my baby…
And then I feel it, that tiny little fluttering against the taut skin of my belly. I hear Little Tuna’s baby voice in my ear. I’m here, Mama. I’m okay! That was scary though, wasn’t it?
Tears stream down my face. My baby is okay. I didn’t lose her in this terrible accident.
I reach for my phone, which is mounted to the dashboard. It’s difficult to do much with my legs pinned down, and the pain is increasing by the second. But I manage to work it free without dropping it. I punch in 911.
Call failed.
“Damn it!” I want to throw my phone across the car, but that won’t do me any good, especially since I can’t move an inch right now. I type in the three digits once again, but the call doesn’t connect.
All right. This is bad, but it could be worse. Dennis is expecting me, and when I don’t show up, he’ll try to reach me. If he calls me repeatedly and can’t get through, he’ll call for help. After what happened to him, an accident will be the first thought on his mind, and he’ll be frantic.
Of course, I might not be so easy to locate. I have definitely veered off the main road, and my tire tracks are quickly being obscured by the rapidly accumulating snow. Best-case scenario, it will be hours before somebody finds me here.
I had been so focused on the pain in my left leg that I was not aware of another sensation. The cold. It’s very cold in this car. Before the crash, I had the heat on. But now the engine is dead. I don’t even dare try to start it up again, because if it catches fire, I am a goner.
Can a person freeze to death in a car? Considering how cold it is at this moment, I believe it could be possible.
I do my best to wrap my coat around my midsection. I curse the fact that I didn’t bother to get a coat that could even close all the way. I’ve got a hat and a scarf, but they’re useless to me right now, packed away in the trunk of the car. It may as well be on Mars.
Oh my God, I’m going to freeze to death.
I snatch up my phone one more time. My fingers are shaking badly from a mix of cold and adrenaline, making it difficult to type in the three digits of 911, and I can barely feel my fingertips. I say a little prayer that the call will go through.
Call failed.
The snow is now falling from the sky in clumps. How long will it take for my car to be completely buried? There’s no way anyone will find me before the morning, even if Dennis calls the police right now. If I wait much longer, I won’t be able to get out of the car at all.
I don’t have any choice. I need to try to find help. If I can walk back to the main road, I can flag down a car to take me to the hospital. At this point, it might be my only hope.
I can do this. I’m a survivor. I made it through thirty-five weeks of pregnancy without anyone’s help. I turned down a ton of money for my daughter and me because it was the right thing to do. I can do this.
For Tuna.
I squirm in my seat, trying to free my legs. I’ve got a little bit of give on the left, which might be enough to get free. I shift, trying to move my left leg and…
Oh my God .
The pain in my ankle takes my breath away—it’s got to be broken. It is so unbearable that it brings tears to my eyes. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever experienced—worse than any contraction I’ve felt. And that’s when the reality hits me:
I can’t get free from this car.
I can’t walk.
I have no food or water.
The temperature is steadily dropping as my car becomes buried under a mound of snow.
I’m going to die here.
I don’t want to die. When I’m old and gray, sure, but not here—not now. There’s so much I have left to live for, including my daughter. I want to see her. I want to hold her in my arms. I can’t go now. It’s not my time. Please, no .
My chest feels tight. I’ve been having trouble breathing since the beginning of my third trimester, but this is something much worse. That was mild, but right now, I’m having a lot of trouble sucking in a breath. This could be a panic attack, but it could also be a punctured lung from the accident. Or worse.
I close my eyes, trying to calm myself down. But when I do, I see Simon’s face. His gray eyes staring into mine as he climbed on top of me. No, no. Please stop, Simon.
I’m going to die out here, and my last memory is going to be of that man.
But then I see it.
A flash of light. It dances before my eyes. The thought occurs to me that maybe my lung really did get punctured and I am on the brink of death. Maybe this light is the light I’m supposed to walk toward.
No. It’s not. It’s a headlight.
Oh my God, it’s another car! I’m saved! I let out a sob of relief.
I summon all my strength to slam the palm of my hand down on the horn of the car, and the sound blasts into the raging storm. No way I’m letting this car go by. I hit the horn again, and the headlights grow brighter. The car is coming closer—they see me.
I can see in the rearview mirror that it’s a green pickup truck. That’s even more good news, because it doesn’t look like it’s going to get stuck in the snow like my Ford. The truck slows to a stop right behind my car.
I expect the driver to kill the engine, but instead, they flick on their high beams. Bright light floods the car, and all of a sudden, I get an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s hard to see the truck anymore because of the bright light, but I can make out a shadow emerging from the vehicle.
It’s a man. An extremely large man. And he’s coming toward me, an object gripped in his right hand.