Novel Teaser

The Dead of Winter

Michael R. Gist

David flattened the back of his hand against the windshield of his Astro van and rubbed imaginary steam from inside the window. A tingle of alarm slithered up his spine as the back tires slipped sideways. Keeping the steering wheel on line, he tried to hide his fear. This was no time to be going up into the mountains.

Outside, an avenue of trees loomed, stoop shouldered under the weight of new-fallen snow. Overhanging branches, buried in whiteness, teetered on the brink of a road-blocking release. And the coldness of the glass, searing his hand, only emphasizes that threat.

The safety of the van was an illusion.

Shivering, he punched his high beams. A reflective glare stabbed his eyes, momentarily blinding him. He tightened his grip on his steering wheel, caressing the smooth leather for tactile reassurance that he was still in control.

"Damn, I knew better," David muttered, returning the lights to normal. "The first time I don't call for the weather report, I get a blizzard." His eyes darted toward his wife, studying her face for subtle signs of disapproval. His guts knotted in anticipation of an onslaught of criticism. Janice could erupt in a barrage of senseless cruelty if the inclination struck, and times like theses were fraught with potential.

"It's not that bad," Janice said. He detected a note of impatience in her voice, but her face remained calm. She shifted and yawned. "Besides, we're almost there."

David didn't reply. Between the piles of camping equipment in back and the sudden snowstorm outside, he was feeling claustrophobic. He wished he was back in his office overlooking downtown Portland. He was always safe there, like an eagle in its nest. He could turn off the intercom, lock the door, and take out brochures of far-flung places like Fiji and Caracas. He could spend hours daydreaming he was somewhere else -- and someone else -- living life, instead of catering to his demanding uncle. Most of the places he imagined were warm and tropical with five-star service and endless beaches of bikini-clad beauties -- not filled with snow or blasted by rain and cold as hell.

"I almost regret this," he said, biting off a string of oaths. Janice was sure to light into him if he started cursing in front of Sandra. He chewed his lip as the van's wheels almost lost traction on the mountainous incline. "I did call ahead to make sure the cabin was prepared." His words sounded lame even to his own ears. "And we are wearing chains."

He glanced at her again but her eyes were closed, like she was pretending to sleep.

Annoyed at her complacency, he jerked the wheel, making the van swerve.

Her eyes popped open. "What was that!"

He smiled at her, bracing for a fight. "Nothing. Just a little ice."

She glared at him for a moment. Then she slumped in her seat, turned her face away from him, and stared out the passenger window.

Frustrated, David returned to studying the blinding sheet of whiteness before him. It had taken two hours to climb from the valley floor to five thousand feet, and that had gone fine, but once he'd turned onto the gravel road to climb to over seven thousand, the heavy stuff had started to fall.

He took a deep breath, determined to put a good face on the worrisome turn of events for Sandra's benefit. "I guess this is called driving by the seat of my pants."

He glanced into the rearview mirror.

A giggle from the back seat rewarded his unusual levity. "You're being silly, Daddy."

Two mittened hands touched his shoulders.

He shrugged. "Sit back and use your seat belt. Haven't I always told you --"

"Give it a break," Janice said, turning toward him. "She's only a kid. And we're only going five miles an hour."

"That's not the point." Taking a deep breath, he prepared to throw himself into a lecture, even though he knew Janice would counter every sensible point with sarcasm.

The van's right tires suddenly slid toward the edge of the road.

Sandra let out a squeal of panic.

"Daddy!"

He pulled back, straightened the wheel -- and oversteered . . .