Faking Christmas(68)
That is…until a jackrabbit jumped up in front of us from his hole somewhere near the earth’s core. The rabbit saw us upon him and panicked, frozen with wide eyes as we nearly plowed into him. Miles jerked backward and instinctively swerved to miss him. The rest happened in slow motion. The sharp turn of the machine, the feeling of falling, hitting the ground, something heavy rolling on top of me, and then…a quiet stillness.
TWENTY THREE
“Come with me if you want to live.”
The Terminator
“Olive! Are you okay?” Miles’s panicked voice broke into the eerie silence.
I felt his hands rolling me onto my back. I stared at his face above me momentarily, dazed as my mind tried to comprehend what had just happened. In a flash, he had discarded his gloves and was feeling around my head and arms.
“Olive. Talk to me.”
“I’m fine,” I mumbled. “I think. Just disoriented.”
Miles let out a string of mild expletives under his breath as he released me. I stared up at the snow in a daze as it fell onto my face. The world felt like it was still spinning around me.
After taking a few moments to regain my bearings, I sat up slowly and took in the carnage around us. The snowmobile was on its side, a few yards away, with a few random parts scattered around, sticking out of the white snow. I turned again to Miles, the thoughts in my head becoming clearer now. With some alarm, I took him in, sitting four paces away with his hands on his head. He was rocking back and forth ever so slightly.
“Miles,” I said, unable to look away. Maybe he was hurt. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
He didn’t answer me. By this time, my stomach was sinking with dread, my mind an anxiety-driven machine now. I rolled to my knees and scooted my way over to him. He was probably hurt and bleeding internally somewhere, and I’d never know until it was too late.
“Miles,” I said again, putting my hand on his arm. “You’re shaking.”
He flinched under my touch and blew out a breath. “Sorry, I’m over it. I promise. That was just…”
His body movements were jerky, and he was mumbling to himself. I had never seen him this out of sorts. He was always calm and collected. Confident. This felt scarier than our crash.
“Miles.” I put both of my hands on his cheeks and forced him to look up at me. “Are you okay?” I touched his stomach. “Does anything hurt?”
“No.” He finally met my eyes and blinked. “I’m okay. Are you sure you’re okay?” He did a once-over across my body.
“I’m fine.”
He nodded, and the mumbling ceased. I stood up on shaky limbs. He followed suit, but his hands were everywhere—covering his mouth, touching his legs, buried in his hair—as though he couldn’t handle being completely still.
The snow was coming down harder now. I tried to tuck my hair behind my ears, but the wind made it nearly impossible. The world seemed gray and very isolated from our viewpoint.
“Let’s see if we can get the snowmobile started. The storm’s picking up,” I said, eyeing him cautiously.
Together, we walked to the overturned machine and worked to turn it right side up. Miles seemed to have gotten ahold of himself enough to climb on top. He fiddled with things and worked at starting the engine. I set about picking up all the parts scattered around us in case something was needed. It was mostly things from inside the pockets of the machine: sunglasses, a Coke can, and a few tools. Nothing that looked like we’d be stuck out here forever. There was a low growl when Miles turned the key. A clicking noise came next, and then…nothing. Miles hopped off, did some manly jiggling of parts, and tried again. This time, no growl or click. Just nothing.
We locked eyes. I gave him my most encouraging smile, though my nerves were on track to betray me soon. I checked my phone in my pocket. No bars. We were too far into the mountains. I had no service.
Miles checked his phone, too, but I could tell by the look on his face there would be no rescue mission coming to pick us up anytime soon. He looked around as if trying to gauge our odds of finding shelter.
The snow peppered my cheeks, and I cinched my coat up tighter on my neck and pulled my hood down low on my face, really missing that beanie.
“There’s a covered bridge about half a mile across this field. Right next to the creek. That might be our best bet.”
I mentally cringed. A covered bridge was a decoration piece for Vermont. Beautiful and touristy. Not something that would necessarily save us from hypothermia in a Vermont blizzard. But I didn’t see any better option amid our surroundings, so when Miles held out his hand, I didn’t hesitate a second before grabbing it. We fell into hurried steps across the field, not talking beyond an occasional grunt or his warning me to step over a rock. The tightness around his face since our crash had not lessened. His tension bled into me, making my steps and limbs jittery, so I said nothing and just followed alongside him.
The covered bridge was one of the smallest I’d seen. Rustic dark wood framed the outside. Upon closer inspection, it only had a couple of leaks from the roof that I could see. Except for the sides that allowed cars to pass through, it was closed in. Thankfully, there were two windows on each side of the bridge, giving us a little light amid the darkness. We moved toward the middle, wanting to get as far out of the wind and snow as possible. Once there, Miles let go of my hand, settled down on the gravel road beneath the bridge, leaning back against the wood.