Olivia leaned forward in her seat, peering over the wheel as she drove cautiously down the darkened road. Heavy rain mixed with wet, sticky snow splattered the windshield and strained her vision as she tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to avoid the potholes that violently rattled her car.
This was her first road trip alone and she had planned it meticulously - the trip out had been uneventful and now she was looking forward to getting back. She would arrive in William's Lake in time for an early dinner. She'd check into a hotel, get a good night's sleep, and be home in Vancouver by lunch time tomorrow. She had travel snacks in her bag; a can of gasoline in the trunk; and even an emergency kit her father had insisted she take with her, none of which had been helpful when she found herself confronted by a tree lying across the width of the highway.
Her GPS had led her back the way she came and onto a dirt road that apparently re-connected with her original route further east, promising that this detour would only delay her a few minutes. Now, several hours later and long past sunset, she was regretting her decision to leave the highway.
The car lurched suddenly. Olivia bounced in seat high enough to hit her head on the roof. Something towards the front began thumping rhythmically and she felt the car wobbling in time to the noise. She brought the car to a stop and climbed out, clutching her head.
One of the front tires sagged limply. She stared at it blankly, dread creeping up into her chest. She fumbled in her pockets for her phone and pulled it out. No signal. She shivered and zipped her coat up.
"Ok," she whispered to herself, "it'll be ok, I can deal with this."
Olivia was pretty sure every car had a spare tire, although she wasn't sure where exactly hers was. She circled around to the passenger side and fished out the manual from the glove box. To her relief, there was a whole section on changing a flat tire, with pictures and everything. She scanned the instructions.
"Tire iron, jack, spare tire. Tire iron, jack, spare tire. Okay."
She popped the trunk and opened up a hatch on the floor, revealing a jack, a spare tire, and an empty receptacle where the manual promised the tire iron would be. She blinked uncomprehendingly. It had to be there. She closed the hatch and then opened it again, staring at the empty space once more. She closed the hatch again.
Panic grew inside here again. She stumbled back to the cab, climbed in the back seat, and began frantically throwing her belongings around to search. Not on the floor, not under the seats, not in the glove box. She hopped out and checked the trunk again, and again the tire iron failed to magically appear in its rightful place.
Olivia stood for a minute, staring into the trees that pressed closely around the road. The car's cabin light illuminated them strangely and they seemed to loom over her. She felt, suddenly, more alone than she had ever felt before. She retreated back into the safety of her car, locking the door behind her. Someone would come along eventually and she could ask them to call a tow truck for her.
The cold began to creep in. She pulled her spare coat over her small frame and curled up underneath it in the back seat.
Rowan's truck barrelled through the dark, skimming over the rough surface of the forest service road. She was late getting back - the owners of the tack & feed store had taken a long lunch and she'd decided to wait rather than make a second trip into town tomorrow. The chickens still needed putting away and the firewood bringing in, so she was anxious to be home. When the stranded car appeared suddenly around a bend, it took her nearly too long to realize what she was seeing. Hands clenched on the wheel and foot pressing her whole body into the brake, she skidded to a halt just inches from a collision.
In the back of the stricken car, Rowan saw a figure sit up and lift their arm to shield their eyes from the truck's headlights. Then, just as suddenly as the car appeared, the figure scrambled out onto the road and began waving their arms, hopping up and down frantically.
"Stop!" A voice called out. "Please, I need help!"
Rowan turned off the ignition and stepped down from her truck, frowning at the young figure and then scanning the woods around her suspiciously.
"Hello? Where are your parents, sweetheart?" She asked gently.
The figure said nothing for a moment, cocked its head as if considering the question deeply, and then summoned up a response.
"Um, what?"
"Your... parents?" Rowan repeated. "Who're you travelling with? Where are they?"
"I'm nineteen," came the figure's reply, now mirroring the confusion in Rowan's voice. "This is my car."
"Oh." Rowan's mind processed the new information. In fact, the stranger she'd taken for a child was a teenaged woman. It was harder to tell as the years went by - the younger generations all looked vaguely the same these days - but she could see, now, that the soft curves of womanhood weren't entirely hidden by the stranger's oversized raincoat.
Rowan looked her up and down. Her hands were pulled inside the sleeves of her coat and slender legs, clad in leggings altogether too thin for this weather, were shaking from the cold. A round face framed by brown ringlets currently displayed a look of puzzled defiance.
"Uh. I need help?" The woman gestured to her car. Rowan realized she'd been staring for too long and looked away hurriedly.
"I think I hit something," the woman continued. "My tire's flat. I can't find my tire iron to put the spare one on."
Rowan's mind finally came back into gear.
"Oh, right. Yes," she said quickly, turning back to her truck to hide her embarrassment. "Let me grab mine and we'll take a look."
