“Cold!” she says.
I duck my head back in the car. “Sorry!”
“Close it!”
“On it.” I close the door and then look around in the thick storm. The snow is thicker and wetter out here than I thought, and the cars stretch on in both directions for as far as I can see. I make my way over to the barrier, and the snow banks lessen the farther I get from the cars. It’s been snowing all week, and the wind seems to be pushing the ground cover against the cars,creating the snow drift I stepped in. After I take care of business as fast as a human can, I weave around cars to get back to Liesel.
It’s only been two minutes, and I’m freezing—my legs and hands are numb, and my face feels chapped from the snow—but my head already feels better. In fact, I don’t feel quite as nauseated, either.
Huh. Maybe I just needed some fresh air. Or to get my blood pumping?
Somehow, I overshoot Liesel’s white Prius. It’s hard to get a clear enough view with the snow attacking me as it is. I keep my head down and at an angle, instead looking at my footsteps and a few feet around them. I follow them back to Liesel’s car, and that’s when I notice something odd.
Because she fishtailed when she slammed on her brakes, she stopped at a different angle than the other cars around us, and that angle is causing the snow to hit directly against the back of her car instead of the side.
Something doesn’t look right.
I glance at the other cars. Snow dumps on them just like on Liesel’s. The people in them are huddled against their heaters or talking or looking at something on their phones. Hot exhaust pipes from their cars just like?—
“The exhaust!”
I sprint to Liesel’s car and open the passenger door. “Your tailpipe is blocked!” I say.
“What?”
I can’t explain more. I leave the door open to let in as much fresh air as possible and run around to the back, where dense snow has compacted and clogged the exhaust pipe. It’s covering the tailpipe completely. I kick and swipe at the chunk until it’s dislodged, and then I run back to the car. Liesel is shaking her head, breathing deeply.
“Are you okay?”
“My head hurts and I think I’m going to throw up,” she says.
“That’s the carbon monoxide. The angle of your car meant that the snow somehow got clogged up in the worst possible spot. Can you reverse and readjust your position?”
“I’m too dizzy. Can you do it?”
Liesel climbs over the console and into the passenger seat, and I slide into the driver’s seat. We close both doors but open the windows to keep as much fresh air coming in as possible.
It’s freezing. My face hurts. My hands are red and already feel chapped. I back up a foot, move forward a foot, and repeat for the next thirty seconds until the Prius is in a safer spot.
“How’s your head?” I ask Liesel.
“A little better. The nausea’s not as bad, either.”
“Do you want to call Juliet? She’s a nurse, right?”
“No, Dr. Google will do just fine. If I call Jules, she’ll send in a literal cavalry.”
She looks up carbon monoxide poisoning on her phone, and a minute later, she says. “Turns out breathing oxygen is really good for recovering from carbon monoxide exposure. Who knew!”
I smile and close the windows, confident the frigid air is as fresh as it comes. Liesel opens her water bottle and guzzles. “I know I’ll have to pee later, but water and staying calm are the only other things we can do. Drink up, pal.”
I grab my water bottle, bump it against hers, and then we both chug.
When we’ve breathed deeply for a couple of minutes, she reclines her seat. The lights from the dashboard and other cars’ brake lights are the only points of illumination in the otherwise bleak, dark evening.
“So, where were we before we were so rudely poisoned?”
“I think we were talking about your crush on me.” I move the seat back as far as it can go. Liesel isn’t short, but I’m a lot taller than she is.
