Chapter 1

“Josh, on your right!”

Eric’s warning buzzed out of my headphones as we raced down the dark alleyway. With a much-practiced twitch of my fingers on my gamepad, my on-screen character leaped to one side. Narrowly avoiding the blast of machine-gun fire from chasing Nazi soldiers.

“I got em,” I called out to my college dormmate as I sent my controlled soldier into a roll. He came out of his acrobatic maneuver with programmed perfection. Putting him on the left flank of three Germans. I took aim at the first Nazi and blasted away. He went down in a hail of gunfire. The second one quickly joined the first.

My fingers worked my controller to take aim on the third. But seeing his two companions go down, he dove behind cover of a half-blasted to hell crumbling wall making up a part of a bombed-out building. A quick flick of my index finger on the trigger, and I fired away. The hail of bullets struck harmlessly on my opponent’s chosen cover. Some graphic artist’s handy work was quickly rendered on the screen to show blackened marks of my virtual bullets impacting on simulated bricks.

I charged forward, ready to jump over the meager cover and finish him off. But I was so caught up in the moment and forgot to reload my machine gun. Hence coming face to face with the third Nazi, I only got off two shots before I ran dry.

An unhelpful message popped up on the lower part of the TV screen, reminding me I needed to press and hold the L1 button for my solider to reload his weapon. I didn’t even get my finger near the correct trigger before the Nazi scum shot me dead.

“Damn,” I said into the microphone of my headset as my character went through its pre-rendered death animation and fell to the ground.

The other online player, seeing that he’d won the fight, started crouching over my dead solider. Up and down, up and down went the computer-generated Nazi’s crotch.

“He get you?” came Eric’s call as he fought his own group of enemy soldiers. He did better than me, quickly dispatching all his foes.

“Yes,” I answered with a sigh as the Nazi continued to defame my avatar’s corpse. He so was busy T-bagging away, he didn’t notice Eric’s All-American war hero come up and blast him with a bazooka. Bloody chunks of virtual SS officer rained across the recreated war zone of World War II Paris.

Eric’s smug voice came across the speakers. “You are avenged!” A pause and then, “Was that dickhead T-Bagging you?”

“Yup.”

“Lame. Who still does that?”

“Nine-year-old’s do. Which is likely most of the players online tonight.”

“Well, what does that say about us?”

“That we’re two pathetic twenty-year-old guys who should be doing something else on a Friday night than play the latest Battlefield game?”

Sounding hurt, Eric’s voice echoed out. “What am I supposed to do on the Friday after Christmas? I’m just about broke, and the parents aren’t willing to spot me some cash.”

Lately, Eric’s dad had been on his case about learning the value of money, and over the last two months had routinely cut off his allowance. Much to my friend’s verbal displeasure. Not that I could relate. I certainly did not have any money coming my way from my parents. I had a job between classes and studying. I had to work for a small pittance that funded my meager activities on campus. I put up with Eric’s whining because when his mom went behind her husband’s back and gave her son a few fifties, he was swift to spread his wealth around between his friends.

“You at least have some nice Virginia weather and a car.” I glanced out the living room window and watched the snow swirl around. The old house gave a groan as the wind from the ongoing blizzard picked up. “I don’t have either.”

“The price of living in Nowheresville, Wisconsin.”

“Hey!” I joked sarcastically. “Eau Claire is an up and coming little city. I’ll have you know we just got a Jamba Juice. Before you know it, they’ll be putting us on Google Maps.”

A snort drifted out my headphones. “And you don’t even live there. I’ve seen the photos you’ve posted. You live in some shack sitting in the middle of a cornfield.”

It was true, I lived in one of those stereotypical Midwestern farmhouses. When I was three, my parents, along with my older sister, moved from our apartment in the city out to the rolling countryside of Wisconsin. Full of corn and cows. My parents had caught what I liked to call the ‘HGTV Bug’ and decided to pour their savings into buying a run-down ‘This Old House’ and fix it up. The house had existed since the late 1870s, and it had really shown. The barn had toppled over in a wind storm some time back, and the outside of the house was nothing but peeling white paint that had withered to the point of being dirty gray. My mom and dad had sold off most of the surrounding land to an agricultural conglomerate, cleared away the wrecked barn, and then spent the next ten years rebuilding and refitting the dilapidated farmhouse. For their effort, I grew up in a home mixed with the new and old. Like a modern kitchen with appliances that had electric wiring from the fifties. Where making toast could literally leave you in the dark as the old fuses blew.

“Not in the middle,” I weakly defended. “It’s on the corner of the field. And it isn’t a shack. It’s nearly as big as your home.”

Our house might have been old, but it was a typical big farmhouse from a time when such things were common. My sister and I each had large bedrooms of our own, a playroom, a home office for my dad, and a studio for mom. But Eric had grown up in some upscale suburb of Norfolk, Virginia, where his dad made a ridiculous amount of money working for some defense contractor. His home had the latest and the greatest of everything. Anything else was just a ‘shack’ in his mind.

“Whatever,” replied Eric with a sigh. I could tell he was getting antsy. Our current match was ending, and most of the people in the lobby were disconnecting. Either to jump into a new round or off to some other distraction.

“Want another game?”

“Sure.”

I started up another session, and in a few minutes, we were back to blasting away at simulated Nazis. Eric had just commandeered a tank and was beginning to shell the other team’s position when he asked, “Still glad you didn’t go with your parents to Chicago?”

“I may be trapped in a snowstorm in my little shack, stuck playing with you, but trust me, it’s better than dealing with Chet.”

“Your sister’s boyfriend that much of an asshole?”

My sister Lisa’s boyfriend Chet – now her fiancé since he’d asked her to marry him at Christmas - had invited us to meet his family in Chicago for the weekend. My parents, ecstatic at their daughter getting engaged, had jumped at the chance. However, I had protested, saying I had plans with friends from high school and could not go. Strictly speaking, that was not a lie, I had a few of my former classmates I wanted to meet up over winter break. But my plans hadn’t been anything set in stone. I really did not want to go to Chicago.

“Chet’s fine in short dosages,” I said. “But more than an hour or so, I want to strangle him. Never going to understand what Lisa sees in him.”

“Your sister is hot. Really nice ass,” put in Eric. He had met her earlier this year when Lisa had come down to visit me at Virginia Tech. My roommate had made some genuinely eye-rolling bad passes at her. “She could land herself someone better than that dork.”

“Err ... First, fuck you, that’s my sister you’re talking about. Second, yeah, she could. Certainly better than you.”

Eric’s mocking laughter was the only response. He still thought of himself as some manly stud who could win over any woman. I supposed his overconfidence and his father’s wallet did contribute to his ongoing success with the opposite sex. But that was a matter of perspective. Up until a few weeks ago, I had been with my girlfriend Heather and not a string of one-night stands. Most of the women Eric convinced to come over to our dorm room were some of the biggest sluts on campus. His activities were usually brief and forgettable. While I could have waited outside the door the standard fifteen minutes while he did the deed, I had often spent my time with my girl. I could at least say our time in bed was longer than Eric’s. But then out of the blue, just before finals, Heather had dumped me, so maybe Eric really had a better outlook on college sex life.

The sardonic glee from my roommate abruptly cut off. It was replaced with muffled voices across the chat line. I couldn’t make out what was being said, and I didn’t pay it much mind. To be honest, I was getting tired of Eric and was hoping one of his parents was pushing him to get off the game.

My wish came true a few seconds later when Eric’s voice returned. “Hey, sorry, but my mom wants me to go with her. Something about a party at the neighbors.” There was a pause, and his next words came in a near whisper. “That girl, Anna, the one with the great tits I was telling you about is supposed to be there. If I can get her away from the parents...”

“Well, best of luck to you,” I interrupted as I was already opening the options menu to disconnect.

“Don’t need luck...” began Eric’s reply, but it was cut off as the chat line died.

With not much interest in the current game, I exited back to the start screen and dropped the controller on the floor. Standing up, I took another look out the living room window. It was a big bay window my parents put in during the house’s renovation. Beside our lit Christmas tree, I only had one lamp on. There wasn’t enough light to penetrate the black beyond the window. I flipped on a second lamp, and the added brightness pushed back some of the inky darkness. I had a full view of our front yard that was currently hip-deep with drifting snow. Compared to just a half-hour ago, the storm was in full force. Icy northerly winds gusted through the empty fields. Wiping the heavy snowfall into near whiteout conditions. The blustery snowflakes piled unendingly, pushing the already three feet of snow in the front yard towards four. Typical Wisconsin Winter.

So here I was, stuck at home on a Friday night, with not many prospects of anything happening. My Jeep’s transmission was a hopeless pile of ground-up gears. It had been a near miracle I had made it home for Christmas break. I didn’t want to think about how I was going to get it repaired and get back to Virginia. I thought about calling one of my high school friends, seeing if I could convince them to make the trek out to the countryside to pick me up. The wind gave a howl, and the house gave another groan as it was battered in the storm. The road outside was nearly impossible to see as the snow blew about. Who the hell would want to come out in this mess?

Then, as if to prove me wrong, as I was about to turn away from the window, I saw the headlights of a vehicle traveling down the road. The constant whipping of the snow gave the twin head beams a flickering glow. It was colored either red or brown, and it made enough contrast in the never-ending white to stand out. A dull ember glow of its taillights reflected off swishing snow entered into view as it came closer.

One car in the storm. Who would be crazy enough to be out tonight?

I tracked its progress with a growing amount of concern. The road twisted at a sharp angle to the right as it curved around the edge of our property. During the day, the bend in the street was easy to see, and at night a set of signs and reflectors let motorists know of the upcoming turn. Yeah, I’d seen a few accidents on the bend as I grew up from careless drivers, but for the most part, the corner was safe. Yet tonight was hardly typical. With the winds blowing the snow and keeping visibility down to just a few feet and the pitch-black night doing the rest. I could tell the driver of the car was going too fast to take the corner on these icy roads.

Sure enough, I saw the headlights begin to shimmy, and brake lights flare as the driver realized too late the road banked sharply to the right. The glare of illuminated snow from the car’s headlights began to dance erratically as the driver lost traction, and the vehicle started to spin. I could see the driver was trying to turn into the spin, desperate to regain control. They almost made it, but unfortunately, they ran out of pavement. For one brief second, I saw the headlights flare as the car hit the embankment of piled snow on the side of the road and plow straight into the ditch. Then darkness and the blizzard completely swallowed my view of the stricken vehicle.

I rushed out of the living room and headed towards the kitchen. The old oak floorboards creaking as I went. The kitchen was mostly dark, just a small light coming from the microwave clock and refrigerator’s ice dispenser. Looking out the room’s window, I tried to regain a view of the crash, but the weather wasn’t remotely cooperating. I could see nothing. I hit the switch to the outdoor lights, and the big floodlight attached to the north side of the house lit up, but all I saw was blustering snowflakes whirling in the air.

“Shit,” I cursed to myself.

My eyes ran to the big oak door leading to the outside. My heavy jacket hung on the nearby coat rack, and my boots sat beneath it. I glanced back and saw the cordless phone next to the refrigerator. I weighed my options. A call to 911 would be a good idea. Whoever was in that car could be badly hurt. But in this weather, a rescue was not going to be quick. It could easily be an hour before someone made it out here. I let out a pent-up breath and grabbed my winter clothing and began to dress. I had my boots on and was rummaging through my coat’s pockets looking for my gloves when a faint glint of light caught my eye from outside. It bobbed about for a few seconds and then faded. It had only a flicker of glow in the storm, but it came from where I was pretty sure they crashed. Likely a flashlight. That was a good sign, someone was out of the car.

That faint light gave me an idea. My dad had gotten one of those high-powered LED flashlights for Christmas from my sister. In my boots, I stomped back into the living room and checked under the tree. There it was – A Maglite. A compact black tube that flared at one end for the oversized bulb. It’s box promised to provide an Ultrabright 525 Lumens. I didn’t really know what a lumen meant, but Dad had played around with the flashlight Christmas morning, and I knew it was plenty bright. Picking the flashlight up, I returned to the kitchen and put on a hat and my gloves.

I braced myself and then opened the door to the outside. I didn’t manage to get it open more than a few inches before a burst of wind buffeted the house, and the doorknob was nearly ripped out of my hands. A rush of whipped up snow made it into the kitchen from the gust. Increasing my grip on the handle, I managed to keep the door from being blown wide up by the storm. Holding it in place, I managed to swing myself around and then leveraged my weight to slam the door close.

Outside I found myself battered by wailing winds as icy snowflakes grazed my cheeks and my nose. The storm was intensifying. I needed to be fast. A quick guess would put the car about a hundred yards down the road from the house. The fastest route to the wreck would be a straight line across our property, diagonal to the road. But a quick estimation at the drifting snow banks filling the front yard ruled that idea out. The driveway, a gradually sloping S which curved down from the hill where our house sat to the road, was a longer way to go, but it at least was partial clear.

I took off at a steady jog, working my down the driveway. Once again, I saw a flicker of light from where the car had gone off the road. But it was hard to make out anything in the murk of the storm. I switched the flashlight on and nearly blinded myself from the reflection of endless snowflakes as they swirled around me. I pointed the light towards the ground, and the glared reduced to something manageable.

Crossing on to the road, I felt my boots begin to slide on the icy pavement. Definitely not the night to be out driving. I had to keep my steps small to maintain my footing. With the wind shifting to the north, it blew right into my face, further slowing my progress. It took almost ten minutes to get this far. I hoped whoever was in the car was not too badly hurt. Inching slowly along, I made my way down the ice-covered pavement. After a few more minutes, I reached the spot where the car had begun to slide on the road. The falling snow had not completely obscured the tire tracks.

I pointed my flashlight in the direction the tracks were leading and managed to make out a snowbank along the side of the road, which showed the district signs of a car recently ramming through it. Piled snow, thrown up from the last time a snowplow had passed through here – which was hours ago - was flung out in all directions. I picked up my pace as best I could, and slowly the beam of my flashlight began to reflect off the dark red form of the rear end of a car.

It was nearly at a 45-degree angle, with the front passenger side stuck firmly into the ditch running alongside the road. The gully was part of drainage channels from the fields beyond. The storm had drifted snow in until it was nearly filled. But the powdery snow was still light enough for the front of the car to sink firmly into the piled snowbank.

I was shielding my face with my arm from a particularly hard blast of wind, when I spotted a black shape on the side of the ditch, about twenty feet from the car. Refocusing my flashlight, the dark form revealed itself to be a person wrapped in an over-sized winter coat hunched over in the snowbank. They looked like they had been trying to get up the embankment to the road when they had fallen into the deep portion of the drifted snow.

“Hey!” I yelled.

The huddled figure looked up, and the wind caught curls of dark hair that stuck out from a gray hoodie. The wavy locks blew around a face mostly covered by a wool scarf. Staring between the hat and the fuzzy muffler were startled wide blue eyes. The flurry of snow shifted around us, and the figure used a gloved hand to brush the wind-whipped hair away. Pulling on the scarf, revealed a pale face under all the winter apparel. Taking a tentative step into the snowdrift, I got a better look and saw her makeup and lipstick.

The woman’s mouth worked silently for a moment as she gaped at me in open surprise, and then she let out a panicked cry. “You got to help me!”

“I will,” I shouted back over the storm’s howl. “I was coming down to help.” I squatted down, putting myself at eye level and close enough we wouldn’t have to yell to be heard.

“You’re from there,” she said as she waved a hand towards the old farmhouse. In the storm, even with the outside floodlights on, it was only dimly visible.

“Yeah,” I nodded. Seeing she was stuck into the drift, I quickly added, “Are you okay? Is there anyone else with you?”

She batted away more flying hair. The sounds of the storm retreated a bit, making it easier for us to talk. “Yes ... Er ... I mean, yes, my friends are in the car.” Gesturing to herself as she brushed at her coat, which was all ready getting covered in snow. “Might have a few bruises, but nothing was broken. We saw your house when we went passed by, and we just hoped someone was home. I was trying to get up this damn ditch when I slipped.”

Extending a hand, I managed to take hers and began to pull her out of the snow. It was hard going as we had to work against the steep angle of the ground. Finally, I managed to get her freed and back on the road. But this lasted only a few seconds before she began to topple over on unsteady legs. I was quick to the rescue and grabbed on to her and held her up as her feet tried to find purchase on the slippery pavement.

“Okay ... Maybe I’m a little more bruised than I thought,” she said with a faint blush starting on what must be icy cheeks. Then a wince of pain colored her expression. “I think I might have twisted my ankle trying to climb out.”

“I got you,” I answered as held her close to keep her steady on her feet. “Do you think you can make it back to your car?”

“I think so,” she nodded, “If you can keep us both from slipping.”

Despite the bulk of our winter coats, with my arms snugly wrapped around her, I could feel the shape of her body. And it was a very nicely shaped body. Curves in all the right places. To be heard over the gusting wind, our faces were just inches apart. Being this close, I could tell she was very attractive under her hat and scarf. Her red lipstick stood out in contrast to her smooth, ivory skin. Lightly applied mascara highlighted her pretty blue eyes. And as I took in my rescued driver, I was hit by a wave of familiarity.

It must have been the same for her, for she blinked and blurted out as recognition also bloomed on her face, “Josh? Josh Olson?”

“Uh ... yeah,” I replied, stunned. I tried to place where I knew her from. And then it all just clicked. “Nicole Booker? Is that you?”

“That’s me,” she confirmed with a surprised smile as we huddle together in the middle of the storm.

Nicole Booker. One of the most popular girls in our class during my time in high school. She had been on the cheerleader squad, the star in most of the school plays, and part of that elite clique, which seemed to form in every school. Above everyone else. Nicole had that sort of natural beauty that some girls were blessed with. With her chestnut curly hair, a classic hourglass figure, shapely legs, and a chest that had provided most guys - including me - their early masturbation imagery.

She had a long list of boyfriends during our teenage years. Unfortunately, I had never been one of them. Back when I was a freshman in high school, pimple-faced and still hopeless around girls, I’d tried to ask her out on a date. At that age, I was still naive enough to think I had a shot with her. I had never really asked a girl before, and my mumbled out proposition went over like day-old roadkill. To Nicole’s credit, she did let me down pretty easily, but her clique of ever-present friends made sure to tease me about it for weeks. But then Nicole had gotten into some problems of her own with a girl named Betsy Smith, and my transgression was largely forgotten. After graduation, I really had no idea what happened to her. I recalled a few Facebook posts made it sound like she was going to school down south, but I had never bothered to find out.

Shaking myself out of high school memories, I tried to pull myself back to the present and the problem at hand. “Um ... your car. Went into the ditch. With your friends,” I said, feeling very stupid as soon as I spoke.

But Nicole did not notice my witless words. She nodded, “I hit the brakes, but all that did was send the car spinning. Everyone was screaming the entire time. Then we just slammed into a wall of snow.”

Despite our heavy clothing, I could feel her begin to tremble in my arms, and I didn’t think her shivering was from just the cold. I gave her comforting squeeze and said firmly, “Nicole, it’s going to be fine. I’m here. We’ll get your friends out.”

“Thank you, Josh,” she whispered close to my ear as she clung to me. I felt a surge in my confidence. Nicole Booker, the high school beauty, was in my arms. She was my damsel in distress, and I was her big hero.

Bracing an arm around Nicole’s waist to help keep her from slipping, I shouted out, “Alright, let’s go!” as the wind once again picked up in intensity. Keeping our steps small, we returned to where her car had gone off the road.

Getting closer, I could make out the car was an older model BMW 4 door sedan. That tracked with what I knew of Nicole’s parents, they were pretty well off. Luxury car for their only daughter. The glow of my flashlight peeled back the darkened interior of the Beemer, and I saw movement from within. With the snow still spinning around the light made it hard to make out their identity. Nicole had said her friends were in the car, but I was not sure who or how many. A few seconds later I got my answer as the rear driver side door was forced open and someone pulled themselves out of the pitched sideways backseat.

Long blonde hair whipped around in the wind as the tall figure of a woman stepped into the snow. She wore a thin blue jacket, a matching scarf, a short dark dress leading to skin-colored leggings, and petite ankle-high leather boots. Said boots quickly sank deep into the snowdrift, and the wearer let out a high pitched squeal of alarm.

“Shitteee!!! That ez cold!!!”

Her strong french accent surprised me. Then a shout came from within the Beemer. “Zoey! Get back in here!”

The woman, her name apparently was Zoey, attempted to pull her stuck boots from the snow, but ended up floundering about as she tried to work herself free. As she struggled, I realized her legging weren’t leggings at all, but cream-colored nylon stockings. The light of my flashlight showed that Zoey had long slender legs, like a model’s. Very nice to look at. But her thin hosiery bounced against my Wisconsin sensibilities. She was woefully underdressed for this weather.

“What the hell is she wearing?” I asked Nicole as we drew to a stop at the rear end of her car. It was as close as we could get without dropping into the deeper snowbank.

“It’s a long story,” answered Nicole with a huff to me. Then in a louder voice, she addressed Zoey. “Give me your hand, Zoe. We’ll pull you out.”

Zoey had managed to pull one boot out and was wobbling about with one foot still stuck in the snow. Her movements ended up causing her to sink deeper into the snowdrift. At any other time, it could have been comical, but at these temperatures, frostbite was a real possibility. Grabbing hold of the car to steady herself, Zoey refocused on Nicole and me. Blinking in the beam from my flashlight, she looked at me with an uncertain glance and then extended her hand to Nicole.

Nicole took Zoey’s hand but was not strong enough to pull the blonde out. With Nicole’s twisted ankle, both nearly toppled over into the snow. Interceding, I helped Nicole to the edge of her car, and let her rest on its crooked bumper. I handed over the Maglite and told her to keep it on me. Nicole nodded, and then I took a tentative step in the deep snowdrift. The white powder was loose enough that I could easily sink into it. I knew the ditch along this side of the road was deep enough to swallow me whole. My boots dropped in a good foot into the fluffy snow, but I managed to resist sinking further and to close the distance to Zoey.

“Here,” I said to the under-dressed blonde, “let me help you out.”

Zoey shot Nicole another questioning glance. “Who ez he?” she asked.

I supposed I should not have been annoyed. I was dressed in a thick coat, heavy boots, woolly hat, wide scarf, big insulated gloves, and I was half coated in the ever falling snow. I mean, Nicole barely recognized me when we were face to face. To Zoey, I was just some random stranger in the storm. Still, her reluctance to my help grated on me.

“I’m the one trying to get you out of this snowbank!” I shouted.

“It’s okay, Zoe,” put in Nicole’s from behind me.

Interrupting, a third voice again came from inside the BMW. “Zoey? Nicole? What the hell is going on out there?”

From my new vantage point, I could see further into the front seat of Nicole’s car. A third woman dressed in a long black coat was trying to push herself up in the far corner. The Beemer’s sideways angle made it difficult to get purchase in the front seat. She was craning her head around, trying to see what was going outside of the car. I caught a brief glance of goldish strands tucked under a wool cap before she sank back into her seat.

“I found help,” answered Nicole with a tried sigh. “This is Josh, he’s a friend from my high school. Josh, this is Zoey stuck in the snowbank, and Kelsea is the one still in my car.”

Kelsea managed to prop herself up by half-crawling half-standing on the front passenger seat to poke her head out of the open rear door. Her face was pretty, wide dark eyes in a small round face, framed in strawberry-blonde hair. She flashed me a quick smile. “Here to rescue us?”

“Uh, yeah,” I said a bit lamely to first Kelsea and then to Zoey. The two ladies were gorgeous, and I was once again feeling a bit tongue-tied. But then I saw Zoey was beginning to shiver, and I concentrated on getting both women out of this mess.

“Here,” I said to Zoey as I grabbed on to her arm. “Let me get you out of this snow.”

I tried pulling on the blonde, but her left leg was stuck fast in the deep snow. Without seeing many options to get her out without falling into the same frozen trap, I crouched down and wrapped both arms around her slim waist. Zoey let out a yelp of surprise as I yanked upward and pulled her from the entrapping snow. She ended up slung over my shoulder like a big sack of potatoes.

Over my shoulder, Zoey let out another high pitched squeal in accented french, “Wat ez you dooiiing!?”