Five Total Strangers

by Natalie D. Richards

  “I didn’t see you,” I say, sounding breathless.

  He doesn’t respond. Maybe he’s sleeping. He’s just sitting there in the dark, no drink or snack near him. I inhale and smell disinfectant. Strong disinfectant that’s eerily familiar. My skin crawls as I crouch to get my soda. I do it with my body at a strange angle because every fiber of my being resists turning my back on this man.

  My eyes adjust, finally picking up the line of his right arm where it rests on the table. His hand looks gnarled and twisted and I hope it’s a trick of the light, but when I tilt my head it’s clearly not. It’s scarred. Burned, maybe. My chest winces in sympathy, but maybe it’s not necessary. The breadth of his shoulders tells me his hand hasn’t kept him from hard work.

  He looks strong. Capable.

  But…something about him being here feels wrong. Why would anyone sit here in the dark, not moving or speaking? Is he sick?

  “Are you okay?” I ask softly.

  Nothing. The soda machine kicks on, the soft purr of the chiller interrupting the silence. I hear the shuffle of footsteps from the restroom. Harper or Kayla, probably. My eyes don’t move from his yellow hat, from the dark smear beneath where his face hides.

  “Sir?”

  Nothing still. Why the hell isn’t he saying something?

  “Mira?”

  I jump, hand flying to my throat as my eyes search the room.

  Josh. He’s in the doorway, leaning heavily on his crutches. I was so engrossed in my thoughts, I didn’t even hear him.

  “Are you coming?” he asks.

  “Y-yes. Sorry.”

  I give yellow hat guy a single backward glance as I slip out of the alcove. The doors to the rest stop are already shutting behind Harper and Brecken, so I guess it’s just us. I hurry to push them open, a blast of icy wind hitting me square in the face.

  Outside the snow is worse, blowing in a spray that slithers into the collar of my coat and creeps up my sleeves. I duck into the wind and pick up speed for the car. When I get there, everyone is shivering and bitching about the cold. Brecken has crouched down again by the chains, but Harper and Kayla are leaning against the open trunk, covered by the small shelter of the open hatchback door.

  “This place is a ghost town,” Harper says.

  I open my mouth to tell them about the guy, but then I see the parking lot is empty. The two trucks I saw earlier are gone, leaving the smell of diesel and nothing more. I twist around, searching. There aren’t even recent tire tracks, unless you count the ones leading directly to our car.

  We’re the only ones here. Which means I don’t know where that man came from.

  “We can head out,” Brecken says.

  “Chains didn’t work out, huh?” Josh asks.

  “They’re busted. All four of them if you can believe that,” Brecken says, gesturing at the chains on the ground.

  “There really isn’t enough snow,” Harper says absently. Her gaze is fixed to her phone and from her grave expression, I don’t think she’s reading anything good.

  “How could you even tell?” Kayla asks Brecken, sounding like she doesn’t much care.

  I crouch down, crossing my arms against the cold. Brecken holds up one of the chains, pointing to links that are twisted and pinched. They look like someone’s taken vise grips to them. Did some amateur think pinching them was how you tighten them on the tire?

  “Those aren’t broken, they’re pinched together,” I say.

  “Maybe the last car that used them put them on wrong,” Josh says.

  “No,” Brecken says. “It looks like someone intentionally wrecked them. These are the exact links you need to hook to attach the chains to the wheels.”

  I let out half a laugh. “You think someone sabotaged our snow chains? On Christmas Eve? I think this is a wee bit paranoid. Someone probably tried to tighten them and screwed them up.”

  “Is it?” Josh asks. “I’m not a snow chain expert, but I’d think anyone would see tightening them like this would make them unusable in the future.”

  “Maybe somebody couldn’t get them off,” Harper says. “If they got frustrated…”

  I nod. “That totally makes sense. They could have tried to pull them off, not realizing they were smashing the links.”

  “Maybe,” Brecken says, but he doesn’t look convinced.

  Harper checks her phone and her face goes tight. She shoves it into her purse. “It doesn’t even matter. We’ve wasted enough time here already.”

  We load back into the car in the same order, and I wish things were different, that I didn’t end up next to the girl who sometimes slumps onto my shoulder in her sleep. I wish, too, that my optimistic words to my mom would have held off the weather, but things are changing fast.

  Back on the highway, snow is collecting on the road and we’re crawling with the rest of traffic through lanes that are growing slipperier by the mile. We follow a narrow set of tire tracks through the thick snow pelting the windshield. Brecken drives slow and steady, scrutinizing the road conditions with narrowed eyes. His grip on the wheel stays tight, hands at the prescribed ten and two.

  He exhales hard. “I think we need to cut north at Easton and head up one of the county highways to I-80. I think we’re heading directly into the storm.”

  “Agreed,” Josh says. “The snow must have shifted south.”

  “Weather said it would probably take one track or another,” Brecken says.

  “I’m no expert,” Kayla says. “But don’t the mountains get bad?”

  “Only if it snows. At all,” I deadpan.

  “That’s always what I’ve heard, too,” Harper says, scratching away again in her leather book. She closes it with a thoughtful frown. “I wonder if he has a point. Heading away from all of this.”

  “I-80. It almost sounds scary,” Kayla says.

  I tilt my head. “Uh, that’s because it’s a death trap painted with pretty yellow lines.”

  “It’s not a death trap.” Brecken drums the steering wheel with his thumbs. “There will be some snow, sure, but look around us. The storm is hitting right here. We need to get out of it, or we’ll be driving through it the entire way.”

  Harper smiles at me. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “You’ll stop the storm from hitting the mountains?” Kayla asks. “Impressive.”

  “It won’t hit the mountains,” Josh says.

  I shake my head. “The storms always hit the mountains.”

  “Even if the storm is in the mountains, I-80 will probably be clear, right?” Josh says. “It’s a major trucking route.”

  “So is this,” I say, jerking my thumb toward the highway where semis crawl steadily along. “This isn’t clear.”

  “It would be clear if they predicted it right,” Brecken says. “This has all the looks of a classic meteorology screwup. The forecast said the mountains would be worse, so all the plows and salt trucks are up there. This piece of shit will wind up closed because they thought it’d be fine. Mark my words.”

  “If anything, there will be too many snow plows up on I-80,” Josh says. “We’ll probably end up with more salt than snow on the car up there.”

  “I’m not seeing it,” I argue. “I’ve been on I-80. My aunt lived in Philadelphia for a while, and, I’m telling you, that highway is notorious for being utter crap. Traffic. Wrecks. Closures. There’s always something going on, and that’s without the snow.”

  “There won’t be that much snow,” Brecken says. “Just calm down and trust us. Or wait until we get there, and I’ll say I told you so.”

  “No, you won’t,” Josh says, and then he pats my knee with a smile that he probably thinks is friendly. “I promise, I really believe I-80 is a good idea. We’ll be safer there.”

  “Then let’s do I-80,” Kayla says with a
sigh. “Whatever. Let’s just stop talking about it.”

  Harper, who’s writing again in the front, murmurs in agreement.

  “I still say it’s insane,” I say. “Eighty is insane in good weather.”

  “Oh my God, you’re like my damn mother back there,” Brecken says, then he looks at Harper. “Are the girls at Pomona like this, too?”

  “It’s women, not girls,” Harper says. “Which I’m sure the women at your school would have told you.”

  “Where do you go to school?” Josh asks.

  “Premed at UC Berkeley,” Brecken says stiffly, his dark eyes flicking to the rearview mirror to Josh. “What about you?”

  My brain fizzes as the conversation unfolds. I feel like a laugh is stuck in my throat, half choking with this new, impossible development.

  They don’t know each other.

  “Carnegie Mellon,” Josh answers.

  “For psychology, right?” Harper says, turning to wink at Josh. “So, we have a doctor, a psychologist, whatever international business rock star I’m going to be, we have Mira the artist, and…what about you, Kayla?”

  “I’m not in school,” she says breezily, “I was out there…visiting.”

  The laugh finally makes its way out, and I shake my head, cutting it off short.

  “What’s so funny?” Harper asks. Josh and Kayla are looking at me, too.

  My cheeks go hot. I shouldn’t have assumed they knew each other. How would that even make any sense?

  I wave my hand at each of them. “Okay, this is really dumb, but I thought you all were friends.”

  “That’s adorable,” Brecken says, and maybe it’s a jerky thing to say, but his smile in the mirror is friendly, revealing perfect white teeth.

  Josh ignores me, but Kayla shrugs. “Maybe we all know each other in another life or some shit.”

  “I like that,” Harper adds. She turns to look over the back of her seat with a smile directed at me. “Maybe this is all fate.”

  “Or maybe it’s nothing and fate doesn’t exist,” Josh says.

  “Wow,” Harper says. “Way to be a pessimist.”

  Josh puts up his hand and forces a laugh that sounds worn. “I’m sorry. Rough day.”

  “It is a crap day,” I say, feeling a twinge of mercy. “And I don’t even have crutches.”

  “I was next to that crying woman on the plane. My knee was killing me, and the flight attendant wouldn’t let me get my meds out of my carry-on.”

  Kayla looks on with interest. “I heard that! She was pretty pissed at you. Did you get them?”

  “Not until we landed,” he says.

  “So, I still don’t get how you found us all, Harper,” I say.

  “Yeah,” Kayla agrees. “Do you always collect strangers at airports?”

  “It all just worked out. Brecken was in line with me at the car rental place. I met you two on the escalator heading down there, and Mira and I hit it off on the plane, didn’t we, Mira?”

  She’s so earnest, the way she looks at me. Like I’m some poor orphaned girl she’s compelled to befriend. My answering smile feels flat. “We sure did.”

  Harper laughs. “See? I think it’s serendipity. Five total strangers connected over Christmas. For all we know this could be the start of some brilliant, lifelong friendship.”

  “Sure,” Josh says, but he doesn’t sound like he buys it. “Have we seen any signs for I-80 yet?”

  “Right,” I grumble. “I forgot our two resident meteorologists think we should head into the mountains in the snowstorm.”

  “Wow,” Josh says, and he looks stung for the span of a breath. But he laughs again. “Okay, I see.”

  I turn, and I don’t know if I’m angry or maybe flirting a little when I fire back. “Really? What exactly is it that you see?”

  “Well for starters, you’re…high spirited. I didn’t notice that about you at first.”

  “Oh, I did,” Harper says. She winks at me. “I saw all kinds of things in Mira.”

  “Well, I’m high spirited, too,” Brecken says. “Just watch.”

  Harper looks at him. “What are you doing?”

  “Driving to I-80. This is a ridiculous mess. I’m over it.”

  “We didn’t all agree to that,” Harper says, looking at me. “I want everyone to feel like they have a say.”

  “It’s your call,” I tell her. “You rented the car.”

  “I helped pay for it,” Brecken says. “So I say it’s a democracy.”

  “I say just get the hell to whatever highway you want and stop talking about it,” Kayla whines.

  I see Brecken’s grin in the rearview mirror. “So, sounds like a vote for us.”

  “It’s three to two, isn’t it?” Josh asks softly. When I turn back, the edge to his expression is gone. “Kayla’s fine with this plan, and Brecken and I both thought of it.”

  Harper checks her phone. Her face goes pale and her fingers hover over the screen. But then, without touching it, she shakes her head and slips her phone back into her purse. She looks stricken in a way I remember from last Christmas in my aunt’s hospital room, which tells me something is going on at home. Something that isn’t good.

  I lean forward from my middle seat to view her better. There is a row of blood droplets on the front of her shirt, three perfectly round, gruesome red blotches. I touch her arm gently and she startles, looking up at me.

  “Harper?” I ask quietly. “Are you okay?”

  “Shit,” Brecken breathes, slowing the SUV. We drive past a line of cars off in the ditch. Nothing terrible. No twenty-car pileup. But it’s more proof that this road is not fit for driving.

  “We’re never getting home this way,” Josh breathes quietly.

  That seems to jar Harper. She turns to Brecken. “How far away is Easton?”

  “Three or four miles to the route north that we’d take.”

  “And you really think that will get us home?” she asks.

  “Yes.” Brecken’s voice is strange. Gentle. “We can get you home. I believe that.”

  “Then we can’t keep doing this. We should try I-80.”

  “Harper’s in,” Josh says warmly. “Okay, Mira. Is that good enough?”

  I don’t answer, because the vote and the slowdown are reminders that the weather is getting worse. This isn’t a joyride with some cool friend group of college kids. This is a Pennsylvania snowstorm with strangers, and we need to be careful.

  I look long and hard out the window. It’s easy to forget what winter means in Pennsylvania. Bad roads can do much worse than slow us down. And I’ve got several hundred miles of bad road to go.

  Chapter Six

  Zari: How goes it?

  Me: How I’d imagine riding shotgun with Satan in the 9th level of hell.

  Zari: That good?

  Me: Keeps getting better.

  Zari: Yikes.

  Me: It’s fine. I just need to get home. Mom needs me.

  Zari: We’ve all needed you.

  I hesitate because my chest tightens up whenever Zari goes here. That’s the thing about moving across the country. You’re not there to fix the big blowout. And you’re not there for the new outfits or the is-this-flirting or the painful breakups. It’s just a weird, slow fade, and after a year and a half of so-so art school friends, I miss Zari. I miss having a best friend.

  It’s making my stomach hurt, or maybe that’s the drive. Brecken changes lanes more than Harper, and it’s making me nauseous. I need to reply to Zari before I’m too sick to look at my phone at all.

  Me: I have to go. Be home soon.

  I pocket my phone and watch the snowy road slowly slip by. I could paint this. Some part of me wants to—all the blue-gray shadows and headlights glinting off silvery snow. And my focal point? Easy. Any one of the cars wedged
into the ditches, flashers blinking and drivers cold and likely in for a long wait.

  To his credit, Brecken is a good driver. He handles the road conditions with quiet, calm determination. We slide a couple of times, but Brecken’s focus and the car’s seemingly endless safety features keep us on track. Given the number of cars I’ve seen in ditches, I think we’re lucky.

  I don’t know, maybe they’re right about the storm. It does look pretty bad here. But when is it ever better in the mountains? Daniel used to tell me all the time, when it gets bad in Pennsylvania, stay as far away from I-80 as you can.

  Then again, Daniel used to tell me that he’d always be here for Mom and me, so what does he know?

  When we get off the highway, the roads are much worse, slush spraying under our tires and the wipers bumping over a ridge of snow building up at the bottom of the windshield again. Brecken follows the signs through town to I-80, and every stop and start rolls through my middle unpleasantly. I’m getting carsick.

  The light turns yellow at an intersection ahead and the van in front of us hits the brakes hard, fishtailing in an instant. Brecken swears softly, and Harper yelps as he hits the brakes. The antilock brakes shudder with a rapid thud-thud-thud-thud that doubles the tempo of my heart. Outside the windshield I can see the red, salt-stained side of the minivan. There could be kids inside. They could be watching us coming right at them.

  I don’t know if we will stop in time. My stomach and hands clench as the car slides slower and slower, finally coming to a halt a few inches from the van in front of us. I let out a breath that shakes.

  “This shit is getting old,” Kayla says, seeming antsy in her seat.

  She squirms against her seat belt, her forehead shiny with sweat. I have no idea what that’s about, because I’m still a little chilly.

  On my other side, Josh winces, tugging at the side of his brace. The starts and stops can’t be comfortable for him, either, with that contraption on.

  “Is there anything you can do?” I ask him. “For your leg?”