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Miles pressed the gas pedal hard and the car lurched. Phoenix held onto the handle over his door, hoping everything would be okay and they'd arrive safely at the ski lodge before check-in closed. As the engine roared briefly, the car slid back the same few inches it had moved. Miles released the gas pedal and sighed.
“We're stuck,” he said.
“So, what do we do? Wait for a yeti to eat us?” Phoenix was wearing a royal blue parka and a dark blue knit balaclava pushed up onto his forehead. His hands were warm inside heavy ski mitts and he had half-calf boots covering his feet. He still felt cold just looking out the car window at the mountains of snow.
“We only have to remove the car from the small depressions the tires are in,” said Miles.
Phoenix knew very little about cars and less about driving, but he was reasonably sure the tires weren't as depressed as he was. He said so.
“Wright,” said Miles, “if you hadn't told me the wrong turn, we would have gone along the highway around the foot of the mountain, with flat, cleared roadways. You have only yourself to blame for this.” He gestured out the window at the narrow road, which was covered with a slick sheet of packed snow. They were stopped at the low point between two steep hills.
“Objection,” said Phoenix mildly. “It was the way Maps said to go, and moreover, when we got to the first steep hill, I said we should turn around and go back to the highway, but you said it would be fine and the mountains were beautiful.”
“You've been saying we should turn around ever since you got off the plane,” said Miles.
“It's cold,” said Phoenix. “And there's too much snow.”
“We're going skiing, Wright. There is no such thing as too much snow.”
“The evidence suggests otherwise,” said Phoenix, looking out the window.
“I've driven in snow before, Wright,” said Miles irritably. “I know what to do. We're stuck, but we just need to get out of this and we'll be on our way.” He hesitated. “Ah, I need you to push the car, Phoenix.”
“Push the car?” said Phoenix blankly. “It is a car. It goes by itself and if it doesn't we call a tow truck. Did we run out of gas?”
“The car is in working order,” said Miles patiently. “The tires are unable to grip the packed snow. The spinning tires have created small wells out of which I have been unable to rock the car using only the engine. We don't have the supplies the locals would have in their cars to solve this problem, and we've seen no other vehicles for half an hour. I need you to help by pushing the car, Phoenix.”
“I'm not a toddler,” said Phoenix. “You didn't have to use small words.” He unbuckled his seat belt and pulled his balaclava down over his face so only his eyes showed.
Miles leaned over and kissed his cheek through the mask. “Your eyes are so beautiful,” he said.
“Compliments will get you everywhere,” said Phoenix. He got out of the car and went around to the back.
Miles rolled down his window. “I'm going to rock the car again,” he said, “and you need to push when it's going forward, each time, to try to move the tires past the slick places so they can grip.”
“Will it roll back onto me?” called Phoenix nervously.
“No,” said Miles. Phoenix thought he sounded impatient. “Phoenix, please, just push the car. You won't get hurt and we'll get to the warm ski lodge with a roaring fire and hot chocolate.”
“It sounds nice when you don't mention the skiing part,” grumbled Phoenix, too quietly for Miles to hear. He went behind the car and gave a clumsy mittened thumbs-up before putting both hands on the trunk. He braced his feet as much as he could on the packed snow.
Miles waved a hand out the window and the engine noise increased as the car rolled a few inches forward. Phoenix pushed but the car immediately rolled back, surprising him by moving back further than its starting point. When it rolled forward again, he pushed ineffectively, having lost his footing.
“Sorry!” he called, as the car rocked backwards once more. This time, when the car started forward, he was ready. He pushed as hard as he could. His feet suddenly slid backwards with all the force of his shove and he landed hard on his belly and face, arms outstretched, and slid backwards several feet. His nose hurt from slamming into the ground and he could feel from the pain as he inhaled that he'd knocked his breath out.
He heard a car door slam shut and Miles was beside him.
“Are you all right?” Miles asked, helping him sit up.
“Peachy,” gasped Phoenix, still working on breathing. “This is fun.”
Miles snorted. Phoenix thought that the view he had in that moment might be worth all the snow and pain. Miles's cheeks and nose were already red from the bitter cold, his gray eyes were sparkling, and the gray and red paid muffler around his neck just accentuated them. He didn't have a hat on and his silvery hair framed his pale face like a halo.
“What happened?” Miles asked.
“I pushed too hard.” His chest was starting to feel better but his nose felt warm and weird and his lower lip ached. “Knocked my breath out when I fell. Give me a second.”
Miles rubbed his back and he leaned into it, though he could barely feel it through the sweater and parka he had on. He hummed his appreciation and felt a gush from his nose.
“Aah!” He pulled up the balaclava. It was wet and sticky with blood, and immediately his face felt like it was freezing. He could practically feel ice forming. His breath made clouds.
Miles gasped and put a hand over his mouth, staring.
“Is it bad?” asked Phoenix. “Is it broken?”
Miles leaned closer, looking, as he reached a leather-gloved hand into his hip pocket. “It doesn't look broken,” he said, pulling out his handkerchief and handing it to Phoenix. “But you should hold it. It's bleeding rather a lot.”
Phoenix took the handkerchief in his ski mitt and clumsily tried to hold his nose and the pressure point on his upper lip. The mitts were thick and it was hard to get a good grip.
“Oh, for goodness' sake,” snapped Miles. He pushed Phoenix's hand away and took the handkerchief, pressing one hand against the back of Phoenix's head while the other held the handkerchief against his lip and nose. “Hold still.”
Phoenix's butt was getting cold from sitting on the snowy road and the wind was cutting through his jeans, chilling his legs. “Can't we go sit in the car?” he said. “I can bleed there just as well and it's warmer.”
Miles nodded. “Take off your mitten so you can hold this.”
Phoenix made a face but handed Miles one ski mitt, pressing his own face through the handkerchief. He got to his feet carefully in the slippery road with Miles holding his other arm and went gratefully to the passenger seat. When Miles was inside and the doors and windows were closed, his face finally started to feel warm again. He leaned his head against the seat back and closed his eyes.
Miles was rustling next to him. “No cell service,” he said.
“What do we do now?” said Phoenix without opening his eyes. “Ow. My mouth hurts when I talk.”
“Be quiet, then, for a change. Let me see your face. Has the bleeding stopped?”
Phoenix opened his eyes, lowered his chin, and let go gingerly. “I think so,” he said. “Ow. It's my bottom lip. Hurts.”
“Shush,” said Miles, peering at him. “There's too much blood. I can't see a thing.” He wiped with the ruined handkerchief. “Ah. Yes. That would hurt.”
“What?” said Phoenix, trying to see himself in the rear-view mirror.
“Sit still, imbecile. You bit through your lip when you fell, I think.”
“This ski trip is really fun, Miles. You were right; I did turn out to have a good time in the snow after all.”
“Shut up, Wright.” Miles wiped some more. “You might need stitches. I'll get you some snow to put on it.”
“Snow did this,” complained Phoenix. “I don't want any snow in the car. It's warm in here.”
“It's to stop your lip from swelling, you lizard. Fortify yourself while I get it because you are going to use it.”
Phoenix watched Miles go over the pile of hard, dirty snow at the edge of the road. He looked good from the back as he clambered. On his way back with a glove full of snow, Miles stopped at the side of the car and did something Phoenix couldn't see. When Miles climbed into the driver's seat, he didn't have the handkerchief any more.
“What did you do with the handkerchief?” His words sounded muddy. His lip felt weird when he spoke.
“Tied it to the antenna on the roof,” said Miles. “It's not really white any longer, but it should work. Here, hold this on your – good gracious, Phoenix, your lip.”
“Feels weird.”
“It's already swollen. Put the snow on it to bring it down.”
“Mmph,” complained Phoenix, complying. It felt awfully cold but, though he would never admit it, his lip felt better as it numbed.
Miles switched on the radio to a classical station. Phoenix closed his eyes again, the vibration of the engine idling soothing him. After a while he felt Miles pulling his hand away from his lip and he let go of the snow wad and put his hand into his lap.
When he woke up, Miles wasn't in the car and the engine was off. The air felt chilly without the heater running. Phoenix looked around. Out the window he saw Miles standing with a bearded man wearing a red and black checked wool coat next to a baby-blue pickup truck. The man was reaching into the bed of his truck, leaning far in over the side. He came back up with what looked like a handful of dangling metal chains. Was he going to pull them up the hill with his truck?
Phoenix felt his lip. It was puffy and sore. He looked at it in the side-view mirror.
He looked like something from a horror movie. Lifting the balaclava to his forehead had smeared blood in a streaky, wide line up his nose and past his eyebrows. His nose was caked with the stuff and his swollen lower lip was bruised purple wherever the blood had been wiped away. There was a deep-looking cut near the top of his lip that was a dark red. His chin was smeary with wiped-off blood and the front of his blue parka was splattered with black-looking bloodstains.
He got out of the car anyway. He wanted to know what was going on and besides, if his face didn't inspire a desire to help them out, nothing would.
As he walked around the car, Miles said, “Urwin, this is Phoenix. Phoenix, Urwin here is going to help us out.”
“Ayup,” said Urwin, looking at Pheonix's face admiringly. “Got a spare set of chains for you. I'll help you put 'em on.”
Phoenix's jaw dropped. This was worse than the worst horror flick.
“Thank you so much,” said Miles. “I've never used them before, though I'm familiar with how they work.”
Phoenix's mind was a complete blank. He looked at Miles. What was going on?
“Just take them off when you get back to civilization,” said Urwin. “They're hell on the rubber if they aren't on something soft.”
“You should let me pay you,” said Miles.
“Nope,” said Urwin. “These chains came off a totaled wreck so they didn't cost me anything. I was keeping them in the bed until I found someone who wanted them.”
Phoenix's head swiveled back and forth between them as they spoke. Maybe he was still asleep in the car. Maybe this wasn't happening.
“Phoenix, you should get back in the car while we do this,” said Miles. Suddenly he stepped quickly to Phoenix and studied him. “You're white as a sheet under all that blood. Are you going to faint?” He took hold of Phoenix's arm.
“I'm,” said Phoenix. “I'm.” He blinked. Words seemed difficult.
Miles looked worried. “Come sit down.” He pulled Phoenix back the passenger seat of the car and sat him down, pushing his legs until he obediently tucked them inside the car.
“I'll have the car on in a minute, love, and you'll be warm,” said Miles. The deepening wrinkle between his eyebrows told Phoenix he was still worried. “Say something.”
“Can we just go to the resort?” said Phoenix.
Miles frowned. “We're going to an urgent care clinic.”
“Okay,” said Phoenix. He closed his eyes. “Maybe I'm still asleep.”
“Maybe you are,” agreed Miles, with amusement in his voice. “I'll be right back.”
“I don't want Urwin in here,” said Phoenix. “Just you.” It was too late. Miles had already closed the door.
A minute later the driver's door opened. Phoenix's eyes snapped open, but it was only Miles. He got in, turned on the car, and rolled down the window. The heater came on, blowing the cold outside air around, and Phoenix shivered as Miles switched it off.
“Just a few minutes of cold, dearheart,” said Miles. He leaned his head out the window, looking down towards the front wheel. There was a soft clanking noise of chains outside the window but Phoenix couldn't see anything.
Then the clanking came from the front of the car on Phoenix's side. He pressed the side of his forehead against his window and peered forward. Urwin was kneeling in the snow with his hands on the front tire, doing something that Phoenix couldn't see.
In a minute Urwin pulled his hands back and stepped away from the side of the car. “Okay. Just a bit,” he called.
Miles put the car into drive and Phoenix heard the engine rise. The wheels didn't make the vvvvv noise they'd been making before while the car was stuck. Instead, they made a muffled clanking sound.
“Stop!” called Urwin.
Miles put the car into park. “Okay,” he called out the window.
Urwin went back the the tire and adjusted something again, then did the same on Miles's side. He stood up and leaned his on arms in Miles's open window.
“All set,” he said.
“May I at least buy you a coffee?” said Miles.
“Nope,” said Urwin. “I don't drink coffee my wife doesn't make.” He smiled. “Only teenagers and tourists drink at coffee shops. No offense.”
“None taken,” said Miles. “Thank you, sir.” He reached a gloved hand out and Urwin shook it with his ungloved one.
“Drive safe,” said Urwin. “Up this hill, right at the old barn, and follow that to the signs for the highway. I'll be behind you in case you slide off up to the barn. You should be okay after that. Remember to take 'em off when you get to the pavement. They just slide off, you roll a little, and slide the other end. Easy as pie.”
“Thanks again,” said Miles.
“No problem,” Urwin said. “And get your partner there to the clinic downtown. They do good work.”
“I will,” promised Miles.
Urwin waved and went to the back of the car, placing his hands there, as Miles rolled up the window and turned on the heater full blast. He touched the gas and the car rocked forward, backward, and forward again, this time continuing forward with a soft clatter and a small bump. Phoenix relaxed when Miles pulled the car forward slowly up the hill, with the clattering noise continuing.
“What was that?” Phoenix asked.
Miles glanced at him, puzzled. “He stopped to help and he had an extra set of chains.”
The chains on the tires continued to clatter as Miles drove along the narrow, snow-packed road. Phoenix watched the snowy trees roll by. Suddenly the trees stopped and a beautiful mountainscape appeared across a field with a picturesque old red barn. Miles rolled down his window and gave a wave to the pickup behind them, then swung the car to the right down another narrow country road. The baby-blue pickup roared past behind them.
Miles glanced over at Phoenix. “How are you feeling?”
“My mouth hurts,” said Phoenix. His speech was still blurry from the puffy lip. “But otherwise okay. Let's just go to that fireplace and cocoa.”
“Urgent care, next stop,” said Miles. “Then the fireplace.”
Phoenix made a face.
“If you could drive, you could decide where the car stops,” said Miles.
“Nngh,” said Phoenix, closing his eyes again. The car was warm now and the clanking of the chains was almost relaxing. “Wake me up when we get there.”