Tom is still asleep against my chest, breathing softly like a purring cat. I notice his lips. The same unsettling shade of blue as yesterday when we came back from the forest. Tiny crystals of ice are clinging to his lashes.
I blink, realizing mine are frozen too.
“Shit. Sapphire, baby, wake up,” My voice shakes from the cold.
Falling asleep in these conditions was a terrible mistake.
I cradle him closer, patting his cheek. The grey tint of his skin sends another wave of panic through me. His lashes flutter, and I hold my breath until he opens his eyes.
“You okay?”
“Yeah…” he grunts, brushing sleep from his eyes.
I need to act.
I dive between the seats for the keys, which isn’t easy with my trembling fingers. The ignition resists for a moment before the engine coughs once, and finally roars to life. Air begins to breathe through the vents.
“We’re okay,” I murmur, mostly to calm myself.
I rub my arms, fighting the cold while the heater slowly wins the battle inside the car. Tom wraps his arms around my chest from behind. His sleepy face presses into my back, warm and comforting for a moment before he gathers himself.
“We need to check the situation outside, clear the car, and see if we can keep going.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
I brace myself for the cold. We don’t have jackets or anything remotely warm. We left in the middle of chaos, abandoning everything at Heatherfell except what we had in our pockets.
“Let’s do this fast,” Tom mutters, gripping the rear door handle on his side.
The door doesn’t budge. Frozen solid.
Tom grits his teeth, slamming his shoulder into it. Once. Twice. On the third hit the door bursts open and Tom tumbles straight into the snow.
I laugh so hard my stomach hurts, and yes, that feels amazingly good after yesterday.
“Oh my god! Sapphire, you okay?”
A groan drifts up from somewhere below the door. Then, out of the white, his fingertips appear first.
“Hmmpff. Soft landing,” he mutters, rising from the snow mass.
I push my door open; it swings easily. If only we’d tried this one first. I step out into the cold to meet him at the front of the car.
The highway’s a mess. A few cars have started moving, but most are still stranded next to the road, half-buried in snow.
The helicopter that woke me landed a few hundred metres away. One of the rescue workers runs our way, his neon-orange jacket bright against the grey morning.
“Avez-vous besoin d’aide? Votre voiture démarre toujours?” he asks, breath fogging in the cold air.
“Tout va bien,” Tom replies with surprising ease.
The man nods quickly and hurries toward the next car.
“You speak French?” I ask, a nervous chuckle slipping out.
“Basic.” He shrugs.
Yeah, right. That accent was hot and didn’t sound basic to me.
