No Fire Escape in Hell

by Kim Cayer

  “Oh, great,” I muttered. But I wasn’t about to start worrying. I was sure it would come on again. And at times it appeared it would, only to revert back to the annoying Lost Signal screen.

  To make matters worse, every time I passed an open field, huge drifts of snow would blow off the barren areas. I would almost slow to walking speed, and remembered to put on my four-way flashers. Soon, probably with ten minutes of my leaving the coffee shop, the open fields weren’t solely responsible for causing white-out conditions. The snow was coming down like mounds of cotton batten.

  Out of the blue, Moneypenny, the name I’d given to the current British voice on my GPS, piped up. “In one kilometre, keep to the right on Highway 89.” Then it went back to saying Lost Signal.

  What were my options? I didn’t want to pull over. There wasn’t even room to pull over, other than in the ditch, and I was certain I’d get rear-ended by someone in a four-wheel SUV still driving like it was normal road conditions. Once I got onto the highway, which would certainly be plowed clear of snow, I would be able to better make an informed decision. A green highway sign almost passed by without my taking notice. “Whoa!” I said aloud. “Almost missed my exit!” At a turtle’s pace, I turned a rather sharp right onto the road and began to speed up, ready to make my entrance onto the main highway.

  In seconds, I was pumping my brakes. A freaking deer? On the on-ramp to a highway? The only reason I saw it was because it jumped right over the hood of my car. And then, maybe another ten seconds later, I almost made my entrance into a lake, having not seen I was coming into a major curve.

  “What the hell!?” I yelled. “Did I miss the fucking highway?”

  As if in response, Moneypenny chimed in. “In three kilometres, make a legal U-turn.”

  “Three kilometres!” I shouted in disbelief. “You’re crazy!” Yes, I often spoke aloud to my GPS. This British babe, with her precise, clipped form of speaking, combined with that winning English accent, had been my best buddy for the last few weeks.

  I figured I’d just pull into someone’s driveway and turn the car around. However, I could see all the pathways leading into homes were covered with drifting snow. Chances were high to certain that I’d get stuck.

  “Make a U-turn,” Moneypenney commanded me. But where? Obviously this was the place to do it, but it appeared to be nothing but fields and snow. The GPS seemed to snort in contempt. “In two kilometres, make a legal U-turn.”

  I glanced to my left and in a quick instant, saw the outline of a big grey building, some kind of assembly plant. I debated stopping and trying to reverse back to that factory. I had just slowed down to ready myself for this move when a loud blaring horn almost gave me a heart attack.

  A big semi-trailer passed me on the left side, close enough to actually move my outside mirror to the farthest position. I hadn’t even seen him in my rearview mirror, and his multi-lit truck’s momentary brightness disappeared once he was barely ten feet in front of me.

  I quickly looked behind me to make sure no more trucks, hell anything, were coming my way. I could barely see out the back window. I had kept my rear wipers going but that had been my one ongoing complaint since I’d bought the vehicle. The rear wipers never seemed to quite meet the window all the way, only creating a small pane of clean glass. That pane was hidden behind bags of costumes.

  Okay, better to keep going to the next legal U-turn, and figure it out from there. Taking it easy, I awaited Moneypenny’s assistance, and I kept my eyes peeled, but I saw nothing but a sheet of snow. I realized I hadn’t fixed my mirror and attempted to open my window. It was frozen shut but I kept pressing the button until there was a popping sound, and the window slid down. Immediately sideways flying snow blew into my car. I quickly popped my mirror back into place and shut the window.

  The GPS came on, almost yelling at me. “In one kilometre, make a legal U-turn!”

  “Sheesh, alright already, calm your britches,” I told Moneypenny. And it was a good thing I was only going ten kilometres an hour, because the snow again broke for an instant and I saw a clearing to my right. A huge bank of snow had blown onto some kind of barricade, so I barely had room to squeeze my car into the remaining space. I almost hit a sign that sprung up as suddenly as that deer. I glanced up and saw it read ‘Scenic Lookout’. I had no idea what there was to see…by this point I was so turned around, it could have been a farmer’s two-headed cow. I didn’t really have anyplace to go, but I didn’t want to be where I was.

  I gave it a moment’s thought. Seemed the legal U-turns were coming closer together; ergo, I must be coming up to a town. Surely those factory people needed somewhere to get coffees in the morning. Again with the ergo, and being in Canada, there must be a Tim Horton’s around. And even if there wasn’t, I’d settle for a Country Style or Coffee Time. At this point, I’d have settled for a sexual deviate’s offer of a cup of java at his place.

  I took my GPS in hand and saw the reminder of Lost Signal. I cursed at the skies for blocking reception and held the GPS in a number of positions. Finally, stretching towards the far corner of the passenger seat, it came to life. Moneypenny immediately barked out, “Make a legal U-turn! Now! I’m tired of talking to you, you stupid idiot.” Okay, she only said the first line, but I could hear the rest in her tone of voice.

  I wasn’t about to make that U-turn, legal or not. I had no desire to go back that way. I just wanted to get somewhere, pay for however many coffees it’d take to wait out the storm, and get back to Toronto. I punched in my query to the GPS – any coffee shops around?

  And no surprise, Tim Horton’s was the first and closest one to pop up. It was less than a kilometre away! I threw the GPS onto the seat, where it promptly lost its signal again. With caution, I slowly eased back onto the road. I kept up the slow pace when I realized I was headed down a steep hill. The snow plows had yet to make their appearance and I could tell the person who’d driven ahead of me had some pretty scary moments. Their tire tracks went straight, then wide squiggly tracks, then a set that actually looked completely sideways.

  I rode my brakes going down that hill. I stayed right in the middle, just praying that nobody else was coming up or down. My eyes were raw from staring out the windshield, searching for my beloved Tim Horton’s. And then, for a microsecond, I saw a big coffee cup up in the sky, with the Tim Horton’s logo. It wasn’t a mirage; it was the sign, high up on a post, for my destination. As suddenly as it’d appeared, it was again lost in the relentless snowstorm.

  I finally felt the sense of being level once again, so I’d made it down the hill. I breathed a sigh of relief, only to be followed by a sharp gasp when Moneypenny screeched, “In 100 metres, turn right!” she rushed me.

  “Whaa….?” I searched the skies for that Tim Horton’s cup.

  “TURN RIGHT!” Moneypenny screamed.

  I turned right, just allowing myself to believe. Yup, I was on a little dirt road. Probably the dirt road to a quaint Tim Horton’s restaurant. I slowed down completely, expecting to run into a hundred other cars escaping the storm. There was nothing but the snow-covered road. I inched forward, now unable to see anything in the storm.

  “Hey!” I yelled at the GPS. “Wait a frickin’ minute!” There should have been well-worn tracks if this road lead to a Tim Horton’s. Snowstorm or not, somebody would have come along every minute for their Timmy’s. “You sent me the wrong way!”

  I stopped the car and just sat there. Now what? I realized the road I’d just travelled along was a tiny, unused one that was already becoming filled with huge growing mounds of snow. Backing up held no appeal to me.

  I considered walking out, back to the main road, and finding that Tim Horton’s on foot. Bundling up in my hoodie with a spring coat thrown over (mitts and scarf not handy, never mind snow boots), I shut the car off, grabbed my purse and cellphone and stepped out of the car.

  The wind snapped the door shut, almost catching my fingers. I patted my Suzuki Swift and uttered a phone
y chuckle. “You just stay here and wait ‘til I get back, ya hear me, Suzi?”

  I turned around and started walking down the road I’d recently driven. I tried to stay within the tire tracks I’d made, but the gathering snow had pretty much obliterated them. Head down, trying to find my trail, I walked head-on into a tree. That caused a pile of snow to jar loose from its limbs and almost turn me into a snowman. Backing up, shaking off the snow, I banged my tailbone into a huge metal container. In anger, I turned to push it over, which only helped to injure my shoulder muscles when it wouldn’t budge. The can had a weird odour, and I saw a sign on it which read ‘FISH GUTS ONLY’.

  I stood stock still, afraid of causing my body any more damage. My cheek stung where I’d walked into the tree; I just knew I’d scratched it on a limb. I looked around and meekly wondered, “Where did the road go?”

  I decided to walk ten steps in one direction and if I didn’t stumble back onto the road, I’d turn around and walk the ten steps back to Fish Guts Can. But when I walked the ten steps, found no road and so retraced my steps back, it seemed Fish Guts had also gone for a walk. The can was nowhere to be seen.

  Forget it, stay with the car, I smartly decided. Easier said than done. Now the question became, “Where did my car go?”

  Back when my Suzuki was fairly new, and I’d lose it in a parking garage or shopping mall, the solution to this problem was blatantly simple. Press the panic button on the key chain and the horn would let me know where to find the car. The batteries kept blowing though. Last year, even with new batteries, the alarm stopped working altogether. When I tried to get it fixed, I was told something had corroded and it would cost a couple hundred to replace the key fob completely. I just decided to better remember where I’d parked.

  So the key alarm was useless. And as close as Suzi and Moneypenny and I had become, calling out for them would be of no use. All I could do was stumble about, hoping to come across it. Part of me held out hope that if I didn’t find the car, maybe I’d find the front door of Tim Horton’s.

  I could have let myself panic, but I was more concerned with keeping warm. I had the hoodie’s drawstrings cinched as tight as possible, the hood pulled over my forehead and up to my eyes. I put my hands into the sleeves of my coat and tried to shield myself from the stinging icy snow. I wasn’t terribly cold and knew I could last a couple more hours wandering around, looking for my light blue car.

  Twice I came across Fish Guts Can. My legs were tired from lifting them through snow banks so, despite the rancid smell, I moved some snow away from the can so I could sit down and lean against it. My digging managed to turn up a dead seagull, its body half-eaten by scavengers before the snow drove them back into hibernation.

  “Oh, ga-ross!!” I spat out as I recoiled backwards. Now I just wanted to be back in my car. I didn’t care about Tim Horton’s one bit; I’d be fine and dandy waiting out this blizzard in the comfort of my home. I just had no idea what direction to make my weary legs move.

  I glanced at the can and figured that every time I left it, or came back to it, I always saw the neon letters. I moved to the opposite side of the can and decided to walk away from it. “Suzi!” I called out foolishly. It was only a ruse to keep myself from going back to Fish Guts Can and laying down next to the seagull. “Where are you?”

  My words flew away with the big wind that whooshed through. I covered my eyes against the snow it brought, and just started to walk. I’d taken maybe a dozen steps when, just as the wind died down, I heard an odd sound. It wasn’t a nature sound; it sounded man-made. A ping…ping…ping…

  I stopped, like the mantracker who’s caught wind of his quarry. I know that sound…and it’s not the sound of Tim Horton’s cash registers…it’s…Fucking right! It’s the sound of my car! The noise it makes if you don’t shut off your headlights or close your door correctly.

  I took three galloping steps towards the sound but then slid to a stop. Wait! I had to do this delicately! I listened for the pings but sure enough, all I could hear was silence. Before I even bothered to analyze anything, I just ran backwards three giant steps and froze.

  Yes! There was that constant pinging sound again. This time I used a different approach, more ninja-style. I walked almost in slow-motion until I was certain I was headed in the right direction. The pings were noticeably louder and I ever so slowly inched towards the noise.

  My car was about a foot in front of me before I actually saw it. The alert sound was being made because, when the door had slammed shut, the seatbelt (as it was wont to do) had slid out and got caught in the door. Normally I notice when this happens; it makes an awful sound. The poor seatbelt was pocked and misshapen from being slammed on so often. This time, what with the roaring wind, it obviously went unnoticed.

  With cold fingers, I clicked the lock door open and jumped into the front seat. My shoes dragged in enough snow to build an igloo. I started up the car then moved my frozen fingers onto the control panel, flicking every switch I could find to maximum. I dispensed with defrost and went straight for total heat.

  After fifteen minutes, I was warm all over except for my feet. I needed to get my wet socks off. But as soon as the shoes and socks came off, I placed my bare feet onto the floormats, where the snow was still melting. That put another chill over my entire body.

  Knowing I had a few hours to kill, I tried to set the GPS again for that mystical Tim Horton’s. However, now Moneypenny was just plain irritating. When it would speak, all she would say was “Make a U-turn.” And then the screen would fizzle out and a now a new slogan was in order – ‘Acquiring Signal’. It was like Moneypenny was saying, “I’m trying, Maggie, just give me time,” when I knew that GPS was probably as lost as I was.

  “It’s been fun, Moneypenny, well, not really,” I told the GPS in my hands. “But lately, you’ve changed. We have to break up. You’re snippy, bossy and you have no patience. It’s not me; it’s you.” And with that, I went to a male’s voice. I tried the British guy. He sounded nice but I think he was into other guys. I wanted some company I could flirt with, so I went with the American male. He even sounded like he had an ever-so-slight Southern twang.

  When I got myself into this predicament, I had about 3/4 of a tank of gas. After an hour of running the car, I began to worry about how long that gas would last. I turned off the car but it was only fifteen minutes before I began freezing. On with the car again. I’d heat up, almost so much that I was sweating, and then turn the car off again until I was chilled.

  The car’s clock read four p.m. and still the snow came down, even heavier than earlier. My gas gauge read half-full. A sixth sense told me it was probable I’d be there all night. Time to stop wasting fuel – I’d likely need it during the night – and time to think like a survivor.

  First, since I was starving, a snack. That consisted of three Timbits and the rest of my cold coffee. Then I reached under seats and retrieved four water bottles, most half-drained. The only other food I could find was an old protein bar I was given when I sang to the company at their grand opening presentation. I had yet to see the bar on grocery shelves. An energy bar composed of prunes, apricots and dates held no appeal. I remembered I had breath mints in my Marilyn bag and chewing gum in my Madonna gear. The food groups were covered.

  Next I had to find a way to stay warm for a long period of time. I had my sleeping bag, but I wanted to use that as a last resort. A bit of expert’s advice came to me – for warmth, dress in layers. I didn’t want to make too much of a mess so I put on the clown suit first. While I awaited the cold to come over me, I laid out my next few sets of layers.

  Two hours later, I decided to run my car for a few minutes. By this point, the Grim Reaper’s gown was bunched up over my clown suit. Over that I wore the cop’s bullet proof vest that I’d miraculously picked up at a yard sale years ago. Over that was the doctor’s smock, with the gorilla suit serving as the final furry layer. I was puffed up and could barely move. I was pretty warm…except for
my toes, now wearing the gorilla feet (which were actually slippers but looked so real! Thank you, Walmart clearance sale!).

  I wanted to run the floor heater for a bit, to toast my tootsies. I soon realized I had a new problem to worry about. I had to pee. Only place I would dare to go would be right outside my car door. I’d have used the Tim Horton’s washroom, if only I could find the bloody place!

  Blasting the heat to stay warm, I took off the many layers of clothes. I braced myself for the cold and opened the door. At least I tried to open it. Maybe I’d locked it by accident? I checked and nope, it was unlocked. I tried again but the door wouldn’t budge. It was frozen shut. I tried the other three doors of the car but the same refrain.

  Well, who’d see if I just hung my butt out the window and took a leak? That proved to be impossible as well, since all four windows had also frozen solid. It appeared I wasn’t going outside for a pee. “No big deal, no biggie,” I reassured myself. “It’s not the end of the world.”

  As much as I liked to think I had a home on wheels, my car never claimed to have a bathroom. The only concession I’d made was that my Suzuki was always equipped with a roll or two of toilet paper. Pissing outside had become the norm. Pissing inside my car? That was a whole different and disgusting story.

  For thirty minutes, I huddled under my sleeping bag, ran the car, and tried to be the master of my bladder. I kept trying my cellphone, but there was still no service. Where had Moneypenny sent me? To the Arctic Circle? Finally I reached behind the passenger seat for my current bag of garbage. I reached into the large Swiss Chalet bag and pulled out an empty extra-large Tim Horton’s cup.

  “How ironic, yet fitting,” I observed. Adding contortionist to the many characters I portrayed, I angled my body as best as I could to take this pressing pee. My head was pinned sideways against the roof, one arm balanced myself across the passenger seat headrest, one leg stretching to the floor, the other leg bent up on the reclined back of the driver’s seat. With my left hand, I positioned the cup under myself, smack up against my genitals so I wouldn’t miss.