“Carson, I want to thank you again for giving me a ride to the convention; I know your bosses wouldn't be happy about it,” Rowena Braddock says from her comfortable spot in the passenger seat.
“I told you, it's not a problem. Just because we compete for the same contracts doesn't mean we have to be assholes to each other,” he replies, squinting to look through the storm blowing outside.
“That stupid car of mine; I swear it spends more time in the shop than on the road.”
“But it looks cool, which is what counts.”
“Shlump, shlump, shlump. shlump,” the front passenger side tire of Carson Romley's Ford Edge adds to the conversation as all of the air suddenly escapes from it.
Carson pulls off to the side of the dark snowy road; the car stops with a sudden jolt.
“What happened?”
“Flat tire, I think. Let me go look.”
Carson turns off the engine, and gets out of the car letting a blast of icy, snowy air suck out all of the heat in the process. He wades through the snow on the road's shoulder around to the passenger side, and then stops. He looks down for a moment, shielding his eyes against the driving snow, mouths something, and thee trudges back through the snow back to get back into the car.
“I hit a snow bank; I can't even get to the tire. I need to move the car to change it.”
Carson turns the key, and the engine chugs a couple of times, but doesn't start.
“Uh oh.”
“Just call a tow truck,” Rowena says, trying to stay calm.
Carson grabs is phone from the cup holder, “No bars,” he says, shaking his head.
Rowena fishes her phone out of her purse, “Same here.”
“This is not a problem. We'll just wait here until morning, and then I'll just go find some help; it can't be that far to somewhere.”
“Can you run the heater? It's freezing,” Rowena whines, pulling her coat tighter.
“Not without the engine, no, but,” Carson awkwardly climbs through the gap between the seats and into the back, “I have some supplies back here for this sort of thing.”
Carson turns on the dome light, and rustles around through their luggage before awkwardly climbing back into the front seat with a promotional duffel bag with the Futuretech Industries logo on it. He opens the bag and starts pulling things out, “We've got blankets,” he says, pulling out some rolled up fleece blankets with the IKEA tags still on them, “bottled water, protein bars, and some candles.”
“Candles?”
“For light and heat.”
“What else do you have?”
“That's it.”
Rowena's eyes go wide with panic, and she suddenly starts punching him in the shoulder while screaming at him, “It's thirty degrees outside, and you think a candle is going to keep us warm? You did this on purpose so I'd miss the convention!”
“I'm going to miss it too!” Carson says, sliding as far to the left as possible, “At least I have an emergency kit, what did you bring?” he continues, unable to merge with the door to avoid the blows.
Rowena freezes in mid-swing, sitting silently for moment before dropping her fist, “Shut up!”
Carson turns off the car's lights to save the battery, and creates a candle holder by cutting the top off of a soda can with his pocket knife. The pair have a less than romantic candlelit dinner of cold water and protein bars while shivering under their coats and thin blankets. Eventually, they manage to fall asleep.
When he wakes in the morning, Carson's face feels numb. Steam exits his mouth when he breathes, which does nothing to help the already completely fogged over windows. He grabs the remains of his bottle of water, and finds a thick layer of ice in the bottle, making it undrinkable. Looking into his ersatz candle-holder, he finds nothing but a thin, cold layer of wax at the bottom.
Wiping the windshield with the corner of his blanket reveals nothing but the glowing white of the sun shining through snow that accumulated on the car overnight. He tries to open the door, but finds that it won't move. He shoves harder, and hears a crunching sound as the ice that was sealing it breaks.
Squinting against the sun, Carson climbs out onto the snowy road, and crunches his way through the ankle deep snow to the front of the car. The tire, along with the rest of the car save for his open door, is completely buried in the snow; not that it matters if the engine won't start.
“Carson?” Rowena says, climbing over his seat to get to the open door, and out into the snow. She's surprised to find that it's actually colder outside the car than in, “I'm sorry for hitting you last night. I was just mad and scared.”
“Ah, it's okay, bruises heal. I'm going to go find help and come back for you. Just wait in the car and try to stay warm, okay?”
“Ummm, Carson?” Rowena says, pointing at something behind him.
Carson turns in the direction she is pointing, and sees it; three hundred yards down the road is a Burger Bro Drive-Thru. It had been obscured by the snowstorm the previous night.
“Goddammit,” Carson says, putting his hand over his face. He takes a deep breath and asks, “Can I buy you breakfast?”
Rowena reaches into the snow-buried car for his keys, and then closes the door, “Sure,” she says, tossing him the keys. As they start walking, she turns to him and says, “At least this will make a good story.”