The Drive

         It was a cold night. The wind bit through every layer of clothing, a constant reminder of winter's fury. It swept across the open plains, howling in the distance like a banshee, nature's death scream. The night was lonely and empty, the clouded sky hiding whatever distant comfort the half-full moon could provide, leaving just darkness. Darkness and the howl of the wind. Out here there were no street lights, no buildings; just the road. Miles upon miles of two lane blacktop stretching off into the black abyss of rural Iowa. Dean sped down the road, led only by the twin beams of light glowing from the front of the white, four door sedan. Nothing in the world existed beyond the scope of those two headlights, isolated by the overwhelming night. Dean put another cigarette to his lips as he pushed the lighter into the dash.
"Can't fall asleep yet," he muttered. "One more hour."
         Seconds later there was an audible click. Dean took the small metal cylinder and pressed the bright red coil to the end of his cigarette, blinking hard in a vain attempt to combat his drowsiness. He inhaled deeply, feeling the toxins enter into the depths of his chest. Exhaling slowly, out of his nose, Dean began to finger through the radio stations. Out here might have been a black hole, swallowing the invisible waves as they made their way across the countryside, Dean thought as he watched the numbers reach their pinnacle only to begin again. Finally, on the third cycle, a voice spoke from the speakers.
"... I repeat, we are currently in the middle of a winter storm warning. A large cell is moving through the area capable of producing ice and gusts up to 60 miles per hour. All of our listeners should avoid the roads as much as possible."
         Dean clicked it off. He leaned forward over the steering wheel and gazed up at the black sky above. Nothing, not yet. He pressed the pedal down another inch, felt the jerk of the car as the gasoline ignited, and watched the speedometer begin to rise. He cracked the window and threw the remains of his cigarette out onto the road, nothing more than a collapsed filter now. For a moment he left the window open, listening to the cry of the frigid wind outside. Dean felt it before he saw it, a pinprick on his cheek, followed immediately by a slight wetness. First one, then five, then too many to count. He closed the window and turned up the heat, feeling the warmth fill the air. He saw it now, the small spears of ice raining from the sky at a 45 degree angle, smashing into the road. The windshield wipers were old and worn, even at full speed they were tragically incapable of repelling the icy onslaught. Dean narrowed his eyes, trying to focus on the dashed yellow line in front of him, but the strengthening tempest made it increasingly more difficult to locate the edges of the road.
         He brought another cigarette to his lips and pressed in his lighter, knuckles turning white as he gripped the wheel. Seconds later he was again rewarded with another audible click. Hands moving reflexively, Dean pressed the hot metal to the end of his cigarette. He reached down in the darkness to return the lighter to its home in the dashboard when he felt the wheels of the speeding vehicle slip onto the gravel shoulder of the road. He quickly dropped the lighter as his absent hand shot back to the wheel. The car jerked to one side, then the other, fishtailing and swerving down the icy highway. Dean frantically spun the wheel, first left, then right; desperately trying to regain control of the metal monster he was locked inside. The next thing he knew, the ground curved away. Dean was weightless, floating against his seatbelt, as the car rolled through the air. He looked through the frosted windshield, wipers swinging furiously as the ice continued to batter down, and saw the dark, clouded sky where the road once was.
Then, there was nothing.