Flakes tickled his nose as they fell. There was so much snow... it seemed it would be easy just to let his mind get lost in that endless ocean. But talking to Sara was keeping him grounded, keeping his mind alert. He could feel the space of his heart warm as she spoke – felt it reaching out to be with her. He needed to talk to her.

But it hurt to hear her cry.

“You have to call 911,” she whimpered. “You can’t just stay out there alone.”

Sara hiccupped and her throat made a little 'squeak' sound. Angus smiled as he stared off into the miles of unbroken snow. He could see the face she made when she had the hiccups: brown eyes wide in anticipation, pink lips pursed tightly to hold it in, almost turning white with the effort. And then the inevitable spasm and squeak and she would exhale in frustration before taking a breath and starting the process over again.

Her voice brought him back.

“I want you to come home,” she whispered, and then started sobbing again.

“I know, baby, I’m so sorry. I want to come home too.”

Sara sniffled, “Okay, I’ll hang up and you call 911, and –”

“NO!”

Angus’s answer was immediate and much more forceful than he had intended. But the thought of hanging up the phone and severing their connection - of losing her, his lifeline - sent such a shockwave of terror through his body it felt as if his chest had flash-frozen into a solid block of ice.

And suddenly he was very cold.

“No, don’t hang up,” he said, more calmly this time, although he could still feel the tension trying to strangle his voice. “I can’t go yet.”

“Why?” she moaned. “Baby, how are they going to find you?”

He started moving again; but this time it was away from the car, following the scattered mess of snow churned up by his crash, until he came to the road. And then he kept going.

“I’ll walk.” Snowflakes hit him harder now, sticking to his eyelashes.

“What?”

“I’ll walk until I find someone.”

“Angus, you’ve got to be kidding. You...”

But Sara’s voice faded into the background. He could still hear her, and his brain understood what she was saying, but somehow it wasn’t as important anymore.

The moment he was on the road, Angus's eyes fell to his shoes – one, two, one, two – shedding the snow that had accumulated when he was in the drift. It slid down and melted on the black pavement, such a stark contrast to the endless white background, that it practically glowed beneath his feet. He kept his pace steady, listening to the sound of his footfalls – tap, tap, tap, tap – cut through the silence of the icy vacuum he was in.

White and black. Silence and tap. It was his world, on and on. And it was mesmerizing.

“It can’t be too far,” he spoke dreamily into the phone, eyes still locked on his shoes. Sara had been questioning his decision to walk for what could potentially be miles in freezing temperatures; and what if no one came across him along the way? and did he remember the last town he passed through? and wasn't it so cold out there?

“Plus it helps me stay warm. I can’t stop moving.”

He spoke, but there was no attention in his tone. The sight of his feet stepping over and over, and the sound of his shoes tapping again and again…

“Angus?” Sara asked anxiously. He hadn’t answered her last question.

“It’s okay, baby, this is best. I’ll just keep walking and –”

Angus suddenly stopped short. Silence enveloped his world like a body cloaked in cotton.

Ahead and about twenty feet off the side of the road, he saw a car. Wrecked. Smashed headfirst into a tree.

He recognized that car.

Thousands questions blazed through his mind, so many that he couldn’t settle on a single one to ask. So instead he simply stared.

The car hadn’t been there for long. Small piles of snow collected on the roof, but the hood was clean – still warm enough to melt any flakes away. He saw a gouged path of snow leading from the road to the car, and next to that path was a set of footprints, facing the opposite direction. Slowly his eyes traced the prints. They made a straight line to the road, and then turned toward the same direction he was currently headed. Darker blobs of melted snow marked the prints for a little while, until they disappeared farther ahead - where he had been just a few minutes ago.

The phone’s earpiece vibrated with a shout.

“Answer me!” Sara was panicked. He hadn’t answered again. He heard Oscar yipping in the background, obviously worked up over his mother's anxiety.

“Wa… wait a second,” he muttered, not entirely to Sara, but it reassured here nonetheless.

“Dammit, Angus don’t do that!”

Oscar was howling now along with the yips. There was a rustle on the line and she must have pulled the dog onto her lap because the next thing he heard was panting and snorting.

But Sara and the dog were far less important than they were a moment before; his heart ceased to pull him toward the warmth of her voice. As if in a trance, Angus left the road and stepped back into the snow.

“Sara…” he mumbled into the phone.

His wife’s voice trembled in fear, but he didn't notice.

“Yes? What happened?”

“I’m…” He paused for a moment; his brain was having trouble coming up with words.

"Yes? Angus, what?"

“I’m back. At the car.”

The further he walked, the more details he could pick out of the wreckage, and the more impossible it seemed. He saw blue paint (the same as his rental), saw a Honda logo on the trunk (also the same as his rental), and then read the bumper sticker: “Enterprise – we pick you up!”

And while Sara pressed him for more information, while he listened to the hissing of a slow air leak and the pattering of snowflakes on the cold metal roof, what he didn’t hear were the footsteps approaching from behind.

To continue:

4. Someone