Catch Me If You Can by Donna Kauffman

there were no flares stuck on the roadway. Though, judging from the amount of snow already accumulated in the open truck bed, the accident might have happened some time back. For all he knew, the flares or danger signs had long since been swallowed in the snow. Which, on the side of the road, was piling up over his calves and edging kneeward.
    “Hello?” he called out, but with the wind and weather, even a shout didn’t travel very far. He carefully drew closer, not wanting to slip and slide his way over the edge. But he wanted to make sure no one was hurt inside the vehicle. “Although what good that will do either of us, I have no idea,” he grumbled. Gingerly, he scuffed forward, making sure the soles of his boots stayed in as direct a contact with hard ground as possible. He swiped a sleeve very carefully over the driver- side window and tapped on the glass. “Hello?” He bent down to peer inside, not realizing how much he was dreading what he’d find until he spied the driver seat and sighed deeply when he saw it was empty. There was no one on the passenger side either, and no backseat to worry about. He glanced in the open truck bed, but the lumpy shapes beneath the snow weren’t the right size for a human body.
    Good Samaritan deed done, he resolutely turned himself back to the other immediate problem: digging himself out. As he trudged back to his half-buried car, he wondered where the occupant of the truck had gone. Hopefully it had still been daylight, and not snowing yet. Maybe a rain-slick road was cause for the accident. The driver had probably hiked down into town or caught a ride in.
    Which left him with the fun task of finding something suitable for digging out the rear tires. Or, barring that, at least clearing out the tailpipe so he could stay warm through the night. Digging with his hands, clad in nothing more than his meager leather driving gloves, was not much of an option. Partl y because his fingers were already numb. But mostly because it would be pretty much like trying to hand scoop water from a quickly flooding boat.
    A quick rummage in the glove box yielded nothing of help. The oversized map book was briefly considered and rejected. The floor mat proved too unwieldy. He was contemplating trying to liberate the skinny license plate from the front bumper, when it occurred to him to go back and hunt around the bed of the truck. One of those lumps might actually be something useful.
    The snow was beginning to accumulate rapidly on the road now as the storm seemed to be settling in for a good night’s run. If he didn’t dig out soon, it wouldn’t matter much. The Escort he’d rent ed had proven to be a tough littl e car on the steep inclines and winding roads in the mountains, but it didn’t have much in the way of ground cleara nce, nor did it come with four- wheel drive. He wished now he’d pushed a bit harder on having them locate a truck, but the look on the rental clerk’s face when he’d inquired about one had quickly disabused him of that idea. SUV’s weren’t too popular on this side of the pond as it turned out.
    He dug around in the pile of snow in the rear of the truck, going by touch, sighing in relief when his fingers bumped up against a long wooden handle. “Please be a shovel,” he muttered. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a heavy garden rake. He struck out twice more with a post hole digger and an old straw broom. “Great, I’ll just sweep my way clear.” He kept the broom out, though, thinking he could at least clear his windshield during the night to keep a lookout for oncoming vehicles. And the handle might prove helpful in clearing a tailpipe tunnel.
    He went back to the hunt, careful not to lean on the truck or rock it in any way. The last thing he wanted to do was send it over the edge of the road. He wanted to meet the locals at some point, but that was not exactly the kind of welcome he was hoping for.
    He ended up using the broomstick to gentl y probe