Whiteout

by Michael Sawicki

  “Alright now…Freddy!” she shouted up the stairs. “It’s time to go!”

  Frowning miserably, a few moments later Fred came down in the kitchen with his jacket and backpack.

  “Did you hear anything on the radio?” Sam asked but already expected the answer.

  “If I did I wouldn’t have bothered coming down,” Fred replied sourly.

  “Okay, no time to mess around. Bundle up boys! It’s cold outside!” she said and scanned the room for her purse. She spotted it stuffed beneath one of the cabinets. She grabbed it and then threw on her fur coat. She looked like a huge cat with all the hair.

  When all three of them were bundled up to her satisfaction, she pulled open the door and they rushed out onto the driveway. Fred locked and slammed the door shut. After some confusion, as the wind and snow beat against them, they started to make their way to the wooden shed at the other end of the driveway. They labored through the foot of snow. Their mother got to the shed first and pulled up the garage door to reveal the silver pickup truck. None of them could understand Charles’s fascination with this thing. It was some sort of odd nostalgia. Sure, Fred liked cars and so did Sam, but this thing was a piece of junk. It might have been a nice pickup truck back when he’d first gotten it in the late 1970s, but after all these New England winters this silver pickup was clearly past its prime. Their mother despised the thing.

  “I hope it starts up,” she muttered, lifting a rusty old key from her purse.

  “Dad changed the oil a few weeks ago,” Fred said.

  “It needs more than an oil change.”

  She slid the key into the driver-side door. It opened easy enough, just a little squeal, and she climbed in. She swung the door closed—that annoying squeal again—and the boys climbed in through the passenger door. They squeezed together in the single wide front seat (there was hardly room for the three of them) and shut the passenger door.

  “Okay, here goes nothing!” she cried, letting out a nervous laugh.

  She turned the key and felt it crank, but it didn’t catch.

  “Hey, Fred,” Sam suddenly said. “You wanna build a snow man after school?”

  “Sure, a big one!”

  “Of course,” Sam replied, excitedly. “A big ass—”

  He paused.

  “I mean, as big as a tree.”

  Their mother, who had been struggling with the ignition, turned to Sam.

  “A tree? Oh, no, I don’t think you can make a snow man that big!” she said bemused.

  “Well, we’ll try,” Sam said. “Won’t we Fred?”

  “As soon as they let us out of school,” Fred said and then added: “Even though school should have been closed.”

  “Hey!” their mother said. “I’m sick of hearing about it already! When did you two become such sour pusses? I don’t want to hear it anymore!”

  She turned back to the ignition and shoved the key forcefully. The engine sputtered and stirred to life. Thick, white smoke poured from the tailpipe. She grabbed the stick and set it into gear.

  “Buckle up,” their mother said.

  The truck lurched out into the snow, packing the white powder under its worn tires. Wet flakes clung to the windshield but were swept away by the window wipers. She managed her way to the end of the driveway without getting stuck and stopped to see if any cars were coming from either direction. She didn’t see anything, so she pulled out into the street. The visibility was low so even if a car did come by they wouldn’t see it until it was nearly right in front of them.

  They drove past the other houses, all buried under the snow and smoke drifting up from the chimneys. The boys were fascinated by how different the neighborhood looked. They had lived here all their lives and they could hardly recognize it.

  Their mother turned the truck left onto another street and paced slowly, trying to stay clear of the heavy drifts.

  “You want to listen to the radio boys? Some music maybe?”

  Fred leaned forward and turned up the radio. It was set to some old country music station. He quickly twisted the dial, searching for anything that would catch his interest. He zipped through several stations before stopping at the sound of a familiar voice.

  “It’s ten after seven, friends, and the storm is at full force now. I hope you are all in a warm, safe place with plenty of water and stored food because it may take a while for us to dig out of this one.”

  Fred frowned. “No, we’re out in the middle of it because you assholes didn’t cancel school,” he said.

  “Freddy! Oh my!” his mother shouted. “Don’t ever use that filthy language again!”

  “So what? It’s the truth!” Fred replied.

  “Don’t you use that word!” she cried. “You can say tushie or fanny, but not that disgusting thing you just said!”

  “Mom, it’s the same thing,” Fred said. “Everyone has an ass and in the center of their ass is the asshole. Does it matter what you call it?”

  “You shut your damn mouth, Freddy!” his mother shouted.

  Sam, who had been listening intently, suddenly joined in on this interesting conversation.

  “We’re not little kids anymore, Mom,” Sam said. “Fred is almost thirteen and I’m already eleven. This is how the older kids talk.”

  “Not my babies, no!” she shouted. “You should know better than to talk like that! If my mother were still around and heard me say something like that she would smack me across the face! Square across it!”

  The boys knew they obviously couldn’t change her mind, so they decided not to try. They let her chastise them and then went back to listening to the radio.

  “As expected,” continued the announcer, “all the schools in the state are now shut down, as well as all municipal offices and buildings. That includes the city of Rockland which we just announced several minutes ago. The governor of the state of Connecticut is expected to soon announce a state of emergency.”

  The three of them first thought they had misunderstood the announcer.

  “Mom?” Sam shouted excitedly.

  “I heard him!” she shouted angrily. “I can’t believe we drove all the way out here for nothing!”

  She hit her fist against the wheel and yelled at the radio.

  “WATCH OUT!! MOM!!” Fred screamed and contorted as if bracing himself.

  She slammed the pickup to a stop just as an enormous red plow truck thundered across the intersection directly in front of them. They lunged forward and sat on the edge of their seats, breathing heavily and their hearts pounding. A second too late, a few feet, maybe inches forward and they would have been smashed. It was already gone. Disappearing off to the right going fifty, maybe faster and it didn’t even slow down for them.

  “Christ!” their mother shouted as she gestured in the direction the red plow had gone. “Just because it’s snowing and you’re a plow doesn’t mean there ain’t any speed limits!”

  The boys were quiet, shaken by the close call. It had been a little too close.

  “Mom, it was your fault,” Sam said, his voice thin and barely audible. “There was a stop sign there. Didn’t you see it?”

  “Well…no! You should’ve said something then!” she quickly snapped. “I didn’t see a damn stop sign! He was going to fast anyway!”

  “This is nobody’s fault but the schools,” Fred said matter-of-factly. “We shouldn’t be out here in the first place.”

  “I think you’re right about that Freddy,” his mother said, brushing back the hair that had fallen over her face. “We’re turning this thing straight back home.” Then after a moment: “I’m sorry I yelled at you boys like that. That was kind of scary, what happened.”

  “It’s alright, Mom,” the boys echoed.

  She slowly and carefully drove through the intersection. The road here had been cleared but it was hardly any easier to drive. She forced the truck into a sloppy U-turn and then made her way back down the same street.

  “I hope your Dad’s on his way hom
e, too,” she said, wiping the windshield with her hand. It was starting to fog up pretty bad. “Didn’t they say the whole state’s closing?”

  “Yeah,” Fred said. “State of emergency or something.”

  “Maybe I’ll call him on the cell if he’s not home when we get there,” she said.

  She struggled to see the road as she wiped the condensation from the windshield. The boys started to help her when suddenly they heard a low rumble. It was the plow approaching them from the rear. It came right up to the back bumper of the pickup, pushing some of the snow up and over the tailgate. It followed them closely like this as the pickup struggled to keep up the pace.

  “Hold your damn horses!” their mother suddenly shouted, her face red and wet with fresh perspiration. “We ain’t going any faster!”

  The plow let off and gave them some distance, but soon came right up to their bumper again. Fred and Sam turned nervously and looked back in terrified fascination. The plow was huge. They couldn’t see up over its hood. There was only the steel blade that took up most of the view. It reflected a crimson red from the taillights of their pathetically small pickup truck. Should it have been compelled, the plow could easily have crushed them.

  “Maybe we should pull over and let—” Fred started to say. He stopped abruptly when the deafening sound of the plow’s bullhorn penetrated their eardrums.

  “Son of a bitch!” his mother shouted furiously. She suddenly had a dull headache that she felt deep in her head.

  She slowed the pickup and stopped to the side of the road. There were no houses on this part of the road and the trees spread over them, enclosing the street like a dark canyon.

  “There you go!” she shouted, looking back at the plow. “Are you happy now, asshole?”

  The plow thundered by them. It passed close enough that their little pickup shook in its wake. Wet snow splashed up onto their windows and blocked the already gloomy light. They sat in complete darkness.

  “Fucking son-of-a-bitch!” their mother shouted, groping around the dash in the dark. She found the wiper switch and twisted it around but the wipers refused to move. She played with the switch a bit longer before the pickup suddenly began to shudder like it was struggling to breath. The engine puttered pathetically for a moment and then stalled completely.

  “Should we get out, Mom?” Sam whimpered.

  “No,” she quickly fired back. “Just keep your mouth shut while I figure out what to do.”

  She lowered the driver side window and stuck her hand through the layer of snow, allowing some faint light into the truck. She pressed the key in the ignition, turning it forward. The engine stuttered lazily and coughed repeatedly but just wouldn’t catch. She kept trying for at least five minutes before finally giving up in pure disgust.

  Fred lowered the other window and brushed back the snow. There was an unyielding thought in the back of his mind that the plow was lurking somewhere out of view, still waiting for them to make a move. He wasn’t sure why he felt that way. It’s not as if the plow had purposely knocked them off the side of the road. The guy was just in a rush. You know how some of these truck drivers are. Some of them don’t respect the other smaller cars on the road. That’s all.

  That’s all it had been, Fred thought to himself. But why did he feel so…terrified? Why wouldn’t his damn hands stop shaking?

  It’s too dark in here! I feel like I’m suffocating!

  “Mom, can I wipe the snow off the windshield?” Fred asked.

  Sam cried. “I want to help!”

  “No!” she shouted.

  She grabbed her purse and started to poke around inside it. The purse was stuffed with things half of which she didn’t even need. The one thing she did need, she could not find.

  “Where is it?” she muttered to herself.

  “What Mom?” Fred asked.

  She was about to toss the whole thing against the dashboard when she finally found it. It was her cell phone. She didn’t use it often but always kept it with her for emergencies. With the truck disabled out in the middle of what seemed like nowhere, this seemed enough of an emergency.

  She handed the phone to Fred. “Here. Call your father. Tell him the pickup stalled and won’t start.”

  Fred flipped the cell phone open. “But how will he find us? I don’t even know where we are!”

  “We’re on Meadow Lane. I’m pretty sure of it. Not far from Duck Pond,” his mother said. Under normal conditions Fred knew the area, but with the snow things looked so foreign. The storm was creating nearly whiteout conditions.

  Fred dialed his father’s cell phone number. His mother slowly opened her door, pushing back the mound of snow.

  “W-w-where are you going?” Sam stammered. He tried to hide his uneasiness, but it was apparent in the pitch of his voice.

  “I’m going to clear the windshield,” she said, setting her feet out onto the snow.

  “I don’t want to stay here!” Sam cried.

  “Quiet!” his mother shouted. “I’ve had enough today with this goddamn snowstorm and now this maniac plow driver! Just let me clear off the snow.”

  Sam whimpered quietly and so she climbed out.

  “Be careful,” Fred said as she dug through some junk under the seat. She grabbed a small plastic brush with yellow hairs and slammed the door shut, leaving them alone in the soft shadows.

  Outside she scanned the deserted street and could not see the plow anywhere, but the visibility was very low.

  Maybe he crashed into a big ditch somewhere, she thought and smiled to herself.

  9

  Lieutenant Carlson finished the interview with the local TV news and walked back into the house. The crime scene investigators had just shown up along with the forensics team. They were already scouring over the house. Stanwick and Murray were explaining the situation to the CSI upstairs. In the kitchen, Budlick was talking with one of the detectives when Carlson came in. Budlick excused himself from the young man he was talking to and came over to Carlson.

  “Carlson, just the man I’ve been wanting to see,” Budlick said. “Did you take care of those damn reporters out front?”

  “Yeah, I told them the situation without revealing too much,” Carlson said.

  “Good. Well, I’ve discovered something you may want to know,” Budlick said.

  “Okay,” Carlson said. “What?”

  “There’s blood in the back yard,” Budlick said. “The forensics guys are taking a look at it, but it’s almost certain the body was dropped from the second floor onto the lawn and then carried off.”

  “But that’s impossible,” Carlson said.

  “Of course it’s possible,” Budlick said. “It’s what actually happened.”

  “But I told you, there couldn’t have been anyone else in here except for the family,” Carlson said.

  “Listen, dammit!” Budlick barked. “I’m telling you, there’s no way that body walked out of here by itself! Somebody had to carry it out of here! Do you understand that, Carlson? It’s fucking common sense! There’s a fucking trail out in the backyard that leads through the woods all the way to Edgemont Road.”

  “Something isn’t right here,” Carlson said. “That’s all I know.”

  10

  Charles was nodding off, savoring the blast of warm, toasty air from the SUV’s air vents when the cell phone in his pocket started to vibrate. He grappled under his heavy coat and pulled the phone out, thinking it was probably somebody from the Department of Transportation. It was probably Rita, that old gray-haired bag of a secretary that was always flirting with him. He looked at the display on the phone and saw that it was his wife calling. He felt a tinge of worry. She almost never called him on his cell.

  “Hello?”

  “Dad?”

  “Fred, is that you?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. We’re stuck!”

  Charles looked over at Vince who gave him a concerned look.

  “You’re stuck? Where’s your mother?”


  “She’s clearing the snow off the pickup.”

  “Okay. Well, tell her to get back inside. It’s freezing. We’re going to come and pull you out. What’s the name of the street you’re on, Fred?”

  “Meadow Lane, I think. That’s what it looks like…I didn’t see any signs.”

  “By the pond?”

  “Yes, I think so. Not far from there.”

  “Alright. Tell your mother to get inside then have her call me. Okay?”

  “I will, Dad.”

  “Okay, Freddy. I’ll be there in twenty minutes, half an hour at most. Just sit tight and keep yourself warm.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Their mother carefully stepped around to the front of the pickup, which was all but buried under a soft layer of snow. She began to brush it off. The flesh-numbing wind swept across her face and caused her to tighten the hood of her jacket around her head. She cursed under her breath with each swing of the brush.

  Inside the pickup, Sam and Fred both were relieved to finally break out of the dark as she cleared the windshield. They could see her working the snow away from the window wipers with the small, cheap brush.

  Fred unbuckled his seatbelt and rolled down the passenger window some more. He had started to sweat a few minutes ago, after the plow had buried them, but he started to relax now a little. Sam, who had been nervously sitting on the edge of the seat, finally sat back and sighed deeply.

  “You weren’t scared, were you?” said Fred with a weak smile.

  “No . . . not really,” Sam lied. He had almost wet himself earlier.

  They paused for a moment, watching as their mother cleared the remaining windows. Fred waved at her with the cell phone in his hand.

  “What was that guy’s problem?” Sam asked. His eyes were tense and searching through the cleared windows for the red plow, desperately hoping not to find it. He didn’t see it yet.

  “Who knows,” Fred said. “Maybe he had a bad night.”

  “A bad week,” Sam added quickly. “If you ask me.”

  Their mother stood directly in front of the truck’s hood and started to sweep the snow from the headlights. She abruptly smashed the hood several times with the cheap brush as it twisted undesirably. She cursed into the air with frustration. Thankfully, they couldn’t make out the words she was using.