Diana Hartwell's Arc

Chapter 3 of 5

Diana read the pamphlet under the dome light. The page on stuck cars said one thing plain: weight the rear. Sandbags. Cinder blocks. Anything heavy over the drive tires. She had none of it. She had a jack and a spare and a purse. She hit the wheel with the heel of her hand. The Lincoln sat nose-first in the drift, the grille packed white, the hood pale under new snow. The wind kept adding to it. She thought about the trunk. A spare tire was heavy. She could pull it out and lay it in the trunk well over the rear axle. It would not be sandbags, but it would be something. She put on her gloves and opened the door. The wind took it and she caught it before it swung wide. She waded to the trunk and got the key in. The lid rose. Inside: the jack, the spare bolted down, a folded blanket. She started on the wing nut. The car moved. Not the wind. A push. The whole rear of the Lincoln shifted an inch on its springs, then rocked back. Diana froze with her hand on the wing nut. She looked up over the raised trunk lid. It stood at the back corner of the car. Close. The antlers branched above the trunk light, pale bone against the snow. The ribs showed through skin drawn tight as canvas. One long hand rested flat on the rear quarter panel. The other hung at its side, black claws curled. It pushed again. The Lincoln rocked. Snow slid off the hood. Diana dropped behind the bumper and crawled. She kept low along the side of the car, one hand on the cold metal, and got the driver's door open and threw herself inside. She locked it. She locked all of them. The thing pushed the car from the back. The Lincoln groaned into the drift, deeper. Diana felt the front end sink another inch. Her breath came fast and loud in the cabin. She started the engine. She put it in reverse and gave it gas. The rear tires spun and screamed on ice. Nothing. The car sank further under the push. She threw it into drive and rocked it. Reverse. Drive. Reverse. The tires whined. The Lincoln did not move. The spare was still bolted in the trunk. The trunk was still open. She could not go back out. She cut the engine. She sat with both hands on the wheel and made herself breathe. The pushing stopped. She waited. It did not start again. She looked in the mirror. The trunk lid stood up, empty and lit. Snow blew across it. Nothing stood behind the car now. She was locked in a car she could not move, with the trunk open to the storm, and the weight she needed was ten feet away in the cold.