Chapter VI — Winding Roads

August 21, 2017 — 19:32

The world outside the windshield was a smear of falling snow and dim headlights. The wipers beat a steady rhythm, smearing meltwater across the glass as Dereck guided the car along the narrow two-lane road. The heater hummed low, but the air inside still felt cold — the kind of cold that seeps into the seams of your clothes and refuses to leave. Noah sat in the passenger seat, his fresh haircut doing little to hide the exhaustion in his eyes. He leaned his temple against the glass, breath fogging the window. Neither had spoken much since leaving town. The silence was thick, made heavier by the unspoken weight of the funeral tomorrow. Snow muffled the world. Even the tires sounded subdued, whispering over the wet, salted pavement. It happened fast — a flash of light, the guttural roar of an engine pushed too far, then the shriek of metal tearing itself apart. Dereck’s hands tightened on the wheel as a pair of headlights flared in the opposite lane, then veered violently off the road. “Jesus—” Dereck’s voice cracked as he braked hard. The car ahead slammed into a stand of bare-limbed trees. The explosion that followed was not cinematic — it was ugly, a concussive thump that sent shards of glass and fragments of metal raining onto the snow. Dereck was out of the car before it had fully stopped. The wind cut through his coat, carrying the acrid stench of burning fuel. Snowflakes hissed as they met the heat. A man staggered from the wreck, flames licking at his sleeve. His voice was hoarse, desperate: “Madea!” Dereck froze. The word hit him somewhere deep, in a place that had no name. The man collapsed in the snow, writhing. The scream that followed was short, sharp, and final. “Noah! Stay in the car!” Dereck’s own voice sounded far away. He moved toward the body, instinct fighting the smell of cooked metal and scorched flesh. The wreck groaned. A sudden blast — the heat explosion — threw Dereck sideways into the snow. Pain flared along his ribs, white-hot. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard Noah shout, then choke into silence. Dereck’s eyes snapped toward the car. Noah was slumped against the passenger seat, blood trickling from his hairline, a jagged shard of metal on the floor by his feet. “Dammit—” Dereck’s breath steamed in the cold as he stumbled back, half-running, half-limping. He yanked open the door, fingers trembling, checking Noah’s pulse. Still there. Shallow, but there. He pulled a burner phone from his coat — the one he never let Noah see — and dialed. It rang twice. “Yeah?” A woman’s voice, calm but alert. “It’s me,” Dereck said. “We need help. Now.” A pause. “Where?” He gave her the location, eyes flicking back to the wreck. The fire was lower now, smoke rolling in greasy plumes into the night. “Fifteen minutes,” she said, and the line went dead. Dereck slid the phone back into his coat. He stayed there in the cold, one hand gripping the car door, the other resting on Noah’s shoulder. The snow kept falling, soft and unrelenting, burying tire tracks and footprints alike.