Snowball

by Gregory Bastianelli

  Gregory bastianelli

  Snowball

  FLAME TREE PRESS

  London & New York

  For Rhonda, whose love warms my heart

  on a cold winter’s night

  Part One

  ’Twas The Night Before Christmas

  Chapter One

  A snowplow trudged along the narrow turnpike lane, trying to keep up with the onslaught of wet heavy snow piling up on the road in thick drifts. Hell of a way to spend Christmas Eve, Toby Hodge thought as the blade of his plow burrowed through the piles of white. The wind whipped snow across his windshield, blades thwacking back and forth, useless as crusty slush built up along the edge of the wipers and the sides of the glass, narrowing his view of the road before him.

  Damn! He could barely see the road. Hadn’t he just gone down this way not more than an hour ago? The storm was piling the snow up faster than he could keep up with it. And where the hell were the other state plows? He hadn’t seen anyone else on the highway for a while. He tried raising the other trucks on the two-way radio, but got nothing but static. The storm wreaked havoc with communications. Damn. New Hampshire hadn’t seen a blizzard like this since ’78, and that was over forty years ago.

  Fitting, Toby thought, considering this was to be his last run of the winter. Nell had kept telling him to retire the week before Christmas, giving them time to enjoy the holiday season before their big move to Florida. But no, Toby knew how short-staffed the Department of Transportation was this time of year, and offered to work right up to the day before Christmas. Then they’d have one day to enjoy the holiday with their children and grandkids before the trucks came to pack everything up for their relocation.

  Then this shit had to hit. He had watched the reports all week. Everyone was predicting it would be a big one. He remembered ’78. God, that seemed so long ago. He was young, the kids young. Evan was only a baby that year. Now he was grown and had given Toby a couple of mighty fine grandkids. Not bad considering his son had been a high school dropout whose life got derailed by drugs. But Evan turned his circumstances around and Toby felt blessed about that.

  Seeing your child suffer in life aged you. And if that wasn’t enough, Old Man Winter decided to rear his ugly head and give Toby one last blast to remember him by.

  No way he’d soon forget this. One more slice of misery to kick his ass. God, he wouldn’t miss this. Not one bit. If only this night would end. He’d probably miss the grandkids opening gifts tomorrow because he’d still be out here on the turnpike, trying to clear the lanes for all the holiday travelers. Toby hated the thought of missing the little ones in the morning. This would be his last Christmas to see that. After that, he and Nell would never set foot up north this time of year. That’s the thing he’d miss the most about moving to Florida – seeing the grandkids on Christmas morning. He’d wanted one last moment of that, and this storm had ruined it. He should have listened to Nell and retired a week earlier. She was always right. He just hated admitting it.

  Don’t think about it, Toby told himself. Get through this nightmare and it’ll be over with. Soon he’d be lazing in the sun on the fishing boat, casting for stripers or bluefish; piña coladas at the tiki bar and all-you-can-eat buffets every Saturday night. No more shoveling, no more plowing, no more frozen fingers and numb ass cheeks. Just sun, sand and surf.

  But now the only waves coming at him were white and the snowplow struggled against the tide. Hadn’t he just cleared this section? How the hell could it be snowing so damn fast? He dropped a gear and looked down at his speedometer. He was barely doing thirty. Toby was surprised he could even move the thick snow at that speed.

  He looked up from his dashboard just in time to see the brown shapes in front of him.

  “What the—” he yelled before slamming on the brakes.

  Reindeer?

  He looked into his driver’s side mirror, which was encrusted in snow. He hadn’t noticed if there were vehicles right behind him before he hit the brakes, and though visibility was horrid, he could see no sign of headlights. Was anyone crazy enough to even be out on a night like this? No, just him. He was the only idiot, Nell would say. If he could get the damn radio to work, he’d call the station and tell them to shut this stretch of highway down. It was already nearly impassable, and his plow wasn’t helping much. More than anything he wanted to be home, even suffering the admonishing his wife would give him. How many times had she told him? Enough for sure.

  Nell was always the reliable one. She knew best. That was one sturdy woman he had married those many years ago. He knew Nell was readying their house for his return from this dreadful night, snow-blowing the driveway and shoveling the walk to the front steps. She’d keep stoking the fire in the woodstove, more than likely bringing in extra wood from the shed. She wouldn’t be just sitting on her ass waiting for him to come home. And that would be in addition to all the baking she’d be doing for the big day tomorrow: pies and cookies. That woman would not stop. And when he did finally get home tonight (more likely tomorrow morning), she’d have him sit and relax by the fire and bring him a mug of steaming hot cocoa with a dash of peppermint schnapps. Even though she herself would have suffered through a rugged night, she’d make damn sure he was comfortable when he got home. God bless that woman, Toby thought. No way would he have made it this far in life without her by his side. And she didn’t expect much in return. Just the comfort of knowing he was home.

  Now if he could only get there.

  Toby looked beyond the windshield, rubbing the frost from the inside with a gloved hand, flakes of frost peeling off and dusting his dashboard. There was no sign of the deer. He swore he had seen them. Several. Bucks too. He saw antlers, he was sure of it. What the hell were they doing running around in this shit storm? Toby eased down on the clutch and shifted into first gear. The plow lurched forward, and then stopped. He lifted the blade, brought it back down, pressing on the gas. The truck didn’t budge. The snow he saw in the path of his headlight beams nearly reached the top of his plow blade.

  This can’t be, he thought. It couldn’t have built up this fast.

  He shifted the gear into reverse, glancing again at his side mirror for headlights, and then tried to back up. He felt the wheels spin. He tried going forward but got only a couple feet before slipping sideways.

  In more than forty years of plowing he had never gotten stuck. A rig this big, weighing this much? No way the wheels should be spinning or sliding.

  Toby slumped down in his seat, thinking. Maybe if he released some sand and spread it around the tires. He didn’t want to get out in this mess, not with that pelting snow and swirling wind. He was comfortable in his seat with the blast of hot air blowing on him through the dashboard vents.

  He grabbed the radio handset. “Hello, base! This is P-12. Can anyone hear me?” He sensed the anxiousness in his voice. If they could hear him, they’d probably be laughing at him. Nothing but static spat out of the speaker.

  “Damn!”

  Toby grabbed a flare from the glove box and shoved it in his pocket. He pulled on his fur-lined winter hat tight over his ears and reached for the door handle. The wind ripped at him as soon as he opened the door, almost tearing it from his grip. He stepped onto the ice-crusted runner and slipped, falling onto his back in the snow. It was good so much snow had built up on the road, otherwise the fall might have hurt badly. As it was, only his pride stung.

  He struggled to get up. Way too old for this, he thought. If Nell could only see me now. The grandkids would certainly have a laugh, and that thought brought the only smile to his face so far this evening. He shut the truck door and walked toward the back end. The wind whipped sno
w around his face, icy pinpricks jabbing his cheeks. He couldn’t see very far beyond the truck. The path he had just plowed along the highway was getting swallowed up quickly. He thought he could make out lights from vehicles in the distance coming this way.

  “Shit!” he said. He took the flare out of his pocket and pulled the string. It burst into a bright red light and he tossed it into the road behind his rig. They couldn’t be moving very fast in this. He hoped they’d see the flare in time.

  Toby knew approximately which mile marker he was at on the turnpike, which meant it was a few miles between exits, one of the more desolate stretches on the highway, with nothing but woods lining both sides. No easy way to get off. Nobody should even be on it on a night like this.

  He unlatched the shovel attached to the side of the truck.

  With the wind howling like a freight train, he could barely hear himself think. But another sound joined the night.

  Someone calling for help.

  He turned toward the front of the truck, the direction the sound was coming from.

  It had to be his imagination. The wind screeched too loud to hear anything else. But it came again, a low moan. Someone hurt? Out here?

  No. It was a trick of the wind. It just sounded like a person’s cry.

  But it compelled him enough to walk toward the front of his truck and around the wide plow blades. Ignoring the snow pelting his now-numbed cheeks, he stared out to where the headlight beams ended, cut off by the swirling snow and dark night.

  A figure stood in the road.

  Motionless.

  Wet snow stuck to his eyelashes and he wiped it away with one gloved hand, the other still gripping the shovel. It was still there. A tall, stout figure.

  “Hello?” Toby called, his voice sucked away so that he couldn’t be sure the person had heard him.

  He climbed into the snow on the road in front of him, sinking up to his thighs. He struggled to lift each leg and plant it in front of him. When he got a few feet closer, he realized what he was looking at.

  A snowman.

  What the hell? he thought. Is this some kind of joke? Who the hell would build a snowman in the middle of the turnpike?

  There was no mistaking it. Three round balls of snow piled on top of each other. Branches for arms stuck out of the sides of the middle section. A black top hat perched on the head, tilted forward so Toby couldn’t see the face. A red-and-white scarf wrapped around the neck, its ends flapping in the wind.

  With everything he’d been through this miserable night, this senseless act irked Toby the most, and he felt like smashing the damn thing with his shovel.

  He gripped the handle and took a step forward.

  Then the snowman’s head rose, tilting back as its face came into view. Beneath the coal-black eyes and long crooked carrot nose was a black mouth grinning with two rows of sharp teeth.

  Toby froze in his tracks, bringing the shovel up against his body defensively, his heart thudding in his chest.

  He turned to run, but his feet were stuck. He pulled at his legs until the snow finally released its grip. Toby stumbled through the snow, like wading through wet cement. He didn’t dare look behind him, because he knew if he did, he’d see that deranged snowman lurching after him.

  What the hell?!

  The snowplow was only a few feet away, but the snow made his efforts so slow, he didn’t think he’d be able to reach it. He tossed the shovel aside, as if losing the excess weight would help. His arms swung wildly, trying to propel him forward through the thick snow. Cold air sucked deep into his lungs, preventing him from screaming. He could hear a swooshing sound from behind.

  He slipped and fell into the road beside his front tire. Scrambling, he got up and grabbed the handle of the driver’s side door. It was at that moment when he finally glanced behind him.

  Toby saw nothing but the swirling snow.

  He opened the door and climbed up into his seat. He slumped back, releasing an exhausted breath, only to continue panting. He removed his gloves and saw his hands were shaking.

  A mirage? he wondered. Toby knew tired drivers sometimes hallucinated. Highway hypnosis they called it. Was that what had happened to him? He had been plowing for nearly twenty hours straight, and at his age—

  Crack!

  A branch smacked against the driver’s side window, causing him to jump. The long branch split into three thinner ones, like fingers on a misshapen hand. It scraped down the glass, etching narrow cracks, as if trying to claw its way in.

  No, Toby thought. This can’t be.

  He punched down on the door lock and moved to the middle of the bench seat. He shut the headlights off. Maybe it won’t see me, he hoped.

  Crack!

  The branch came down again, this time on the windshield before him. The three twiglike fingers bent, digging at the glass.

  It can’t get in, Toby told himself. The glass is too strong. It won’t break.

  The branch pulled away from the windshield. Toby peered out the glass, looking around all three sides of his cab. He didn’t see anything.

  A strange sound came, faintly.

  Toby turned off the truck’s engine and listened. It sounded like it was coming from under the truck’s hood. A scraping sound. It was getting closer.

  Then he realized it was coming from the vents in the dashboard.

  Chapter Two

  Eight vehicles eventually caught up to the snowplow stuck in the right lane of the turnpike. The first one to reach it was an SUV and the driver didn’t even see the plow in the darkness till it was almost too late, the flare’s glow now buried in snow. With its lights off, the big orange rig was hidden in the darkness of the night, camouflaged by the swirling snow.

  It was fortunate none of the vehicles were able to move very fast on the snow-covered highway. When the driver of the SUV realized the plow was stopped and hit his brakes, the vehicle turned sideways and slid to a stop. That caused the eighteen-wheeled tractor-trailer behind it to jackknife, despite how cautious the experienced trucker behind the wheel was being.

  Once that happened, the rest of the vehicles on the turnpike ground to a halt. Stacked up in line behind the eighteen-wheeler was a coupe, a luxury sedan, a hatchback, a minivan, an RV and a station wagon bringing up the rear. There was simply nowhere to go. The snow continued pounding the area, building up and beginning to bury their vehicles. So there the occupants of the vehicles sat.

  And waited….

  Chapter Three

  Eventually, some of the drivers got out of their vehicles and walked forward to see how bad the situation was. Graham Sawyer stepped from the sedan into a torrent of wind and icy snow pelting his face. From the car behind him came a young kid in a ski vest and winter cap, one hand raised in an attempt to shield his face from the elements.

  His arms must be cold, Graham thought, never having understood the point of a winter vest. Graham himself only had on a leather bomber-style jacket. He had picked up his best friend from Logan Airport in Boston and hadn’t really expected to step out into the elements. His fingers were already growing numb in his leather driving gloves.

  The young kid, who barely looked in his twenties, said something, but the words were snatched by the wind. Graham just nodded and the two of them moved forward in the snow. As they passed the coupe, its driver rolled down the window. Graham could feel the heat pouring out of the vehicle and got his face close to steal some warmth.

  “What the hell’s going on?” asked the driver, a middle-aged man in a suit and tie. Folded on the seat beside him was a dress coat.

  Someone else not dressed for the elements, Graham thought. He guessed no one had expected to be dealing with this.

  “Don’t know,” Graham shouted into the man’s open window, still enjoying the warmth on his cheeks. “That’s what we’re going to check out.” Was the
man an idiot? Did he think they knew anything?

  “Well, I ain’t getting out in this shit,” the man replied. “Let me know what you find.”

  The man put his window up before Graham could respond. It didn’t matter. The fellow didn’t look like he’d be much help. Graham and the kid continued trudging forward through the snow. It was hard to breathe with the wind pressing against his face. His lips felt numb, and snot ran from his nose. He wiped it away on the sleeve of his jacket, hating to do that. This sucks, he thought.

  It was dark on this stretch of the highway, no lampposts, and nothing but woods on both sides. Not a house or building in sight. The tall pine trees that lined the highway looked like snow-covered mountain peaks with jagged ridges.

  As Graham made his way around the jackknifed tractor-trailer, he glanced back to make sure the kid was still with him. He was keeping pace, but a few feet behind, rubbing the arms of his sweater under the vest. The wind still blew in his face, frustrating Graham that it could blow in every direction he looked.

  On the other side of the tractor-trailer, he saw an SUV stuck sideways in the middle of the turnpike. Two men were outside it, and as he got closer, Graham saw a heavy black man in a dark winter coat, a fur-lined hood surrounding his round brown face. He was talking to a tall middle-aged man whose neatly trimmed beard was caked with frost.

  “What’s it look like ahead?” Graham asked the duo, straining his neck to view beyond the SUV, though the mist coughed up by the swirling snow prevented seeing more than a few yards.

  “There’s a snowplow up ahead, just sitting there,” the bearded man said. “No lights on or anything. Thought I was going to slam into it.”

  “You were going too fast for this crap,” the black man said, irritation in his voice.

  “I was fine,” the bearded man said. “I’ve got good traction and tires on this.” He indicated his vehicle. “But that damn plow screwed me up.”