"Damn," he said aloud, knowing there was no one to hear.

He calmly walked around the car, carefully checking each door.

No dice. Locked tight.

"OK," he said, now silently, "time to think. Think..."

He pulled the zipper of his windbreaker all the way to the top, and shivered.

How stupid, he thought, just a sweater and a windbreaker. It was early April and, as was his custom, he had underdressed, as if by doing so he could encourage the arrival of spring. But the nights could still be quite chilly this time of year, especially for one dressed as foolishly as he was.

Actually, he realized, he *did* have a heavier jacket with him...and he could *see* it, right there, on the back seat of his locked car. "Whole lotta good that will do me," he thought.

Disgusted with himself, he moved to the front of the car, where the engine was still idling and generating enough heat to prevent hypothermia, at least for a time.

Laying his body across the hood, he tried valiantly to keep his sense of humor and to keep his wits about him, and actually, enjoyed some measure of success. Things would work out; they always did.

He began to replay in his mind what he had been thinking when he passed that last gas station. The gas gauge showed just under a quarter of a tank. Furthermore, his own bladder gauge registered "Full" but he had been too stubborn to stop. Home in 20 minutes, he had told himself.

But barely ten minutes later, bladder aching, he had sought out a good place, on this deserted stretch of highway, to pull over and relieve himself.

His bladder was, now, about the *only* thing he felt good about. The car was locked tight, the temperature probably in the upper 30's.

He looked up and down the road. Not a car in sight. He studied the horizon looking for a hint of an oncoming headlight. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

"Holy crap...." he thought, exhaling slowly as the graveness of his situation began to settle in.

It was just past 5:00 am.

It did not take him long to realize that he had no real options. It was roughly ten miles to his mountain home, but the house would be empty and locked, no more accessible than his car was.

And ten miles, perhaps more, the other way, was the gas station, where this deserted road intersected with a six-lane highway that would certainly be waking up to a new rush hour.

But he would wait. The warmth of the car's engine would sustain him until someone came.

...

The car did not sputter for long, before it stopped running, having run itself dry.

The silence was striking, as was the darkness on this starless night, the headlights having given up not long after the pistons ceased their labor.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the streetlight, distant and dim, and he set off towards it, with a shiver and a nervous sigh.

It was further than he thought, and by the time he arrived there, his arthritic knees were screaming. And he knew, now, that he would not--could not--walk out of this crisis.

First he sat on the cold pavement, then on the damp ground, then he stood. The sitting seemed to suck the warmth right out of him; the standing was hard on his back and his knees.

"Stay warm, stay calm," he told himself, knowing full well he was losing both battles rapidly.

A few long minutes later, looking desperately into the starless sky, looking for a miracle, all he found was the startling sting of cold raindrops on his face...

....

They found him curled up like a baby, lying on the stones next to his car. He had found the only available source of heat for miles, they realized, the warmth from the stalled engine, although on a chilly night like this, it wouldn't have lasted long. They found his wallet in his back pocket, with several credit cards, unused the night before, bearing his name. In his front pocket, amidst the change and receipts from a long day's drive, was the spare key to his car...


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(c)Fritz Barnes, 1999