The huge snowflakes swirled over the bonnet and hit the windscreen, where it built up outside the area swept by the wipers. Twice before she had stopped to clear the screen as the wiper arc got smaller and smaller.
The driver found herself mesmerized by the snow's movement, having difficulty in seeing beyond it. The speedometer informed her - 10 miles per hour. Face close to the windscreen she peered forward, it was difficult to see beyond the flying white. Headlamps had been turned off in favour of fog lamps to reduce the glare. Time after time, even at that speed ghostly objects would suddenly appear and she would wrench at the wheel or stab at the brakes in a futile attempt to avoid them.
Angela congratulated herself that she had prepared well for her journey; two insulated flasks of tea, sandwiches, high-energy food bars, thermal blanket, snow-chains and a tartan rug. Also carried in the boot, summer and winter, were a king-sized sleeping bag and a thermal-plastic car inner tent which served as a modesty area for changing and, at a push, sleeping in the car.
Thirty minutes ago she had been sure that none of the items would be needed; now she wasn't too sure, although the prospect of spending night alone in a blizzard filled her with apprehension.
Speed dropped further as her aching eyes refused to focus on anything remotely like the road. She had neither the will nor ability to avoid another shadow that sprung up to the left of her vehicle. The impact surprised her. The vehicle lurched to the right and stopped, she pressed the accelerator but the front wheels just spun on the icy surface.
In desperation she selected reverse gear and pressed the accelerator, again the wheels spun. As they did her left foot gently pressed the brake to slow them down to try to gain purchase between tyres and the surface. There was a total lack of grip. Angela applied the hand-brake and sat back in the seat and took stock of the situation in which she now found herself.
Sat-nav indicated that the car was on the main road with the nearest house more than a mile away. Fuel was as yet not a problem with the indicator showing the tank three quarters full. Food and drink was sufficient to take her through the night. What was vital was to keep warm, and in that respect her preparations had, or should, serve her well. Pressing the buttons on the AC she raised the demand for heat. The cabin was flooded with warmth.
Angela was aware that the engine would provide heat only if it could continue to run, and it would run only if it could breathe, if the exhaust-pipe became blocked with snow the motor would cease to function.
What startled her was a grotesque figure emerging from whatever had stopped her car's progress. It was large and appeared to be trying to fly; huge appendages beating the air. It screamed like a banshee as it moved towards her vehicle. Instinctively she hit the button on the door panel and heard the reassuring clunk of the doors locking. Its hairy head appeared at the window, the huge mouth was distorted, eyes bulged as it screamed, clawing at the glass.
"Fucking... short... sighted... crazy... cow ..." words filtered through the glass.
Angel kept her cool and summed up the being. "Prick!" she mouthed.
That stopped it in mid scream and transformed it into something almost resembling a man.
"Oh gawd!" thought Angela, "White van man!" "WVM". One of those guys that drive a large or small, white van (often coloured too), who considers he owns the whole road system, is the only good driver on the road, and wonders why people think that HE should abide by speed limits. When tailgating (when isn't he?) his van is so close that he appears to be sat in the rear seats of your vehicle.
WVM was dressed as appropriate to his kind, considering that it was winter; garishly printed t-shirt and dirty jeans with holes at the knees. How strange that he was soaked to the skin and in the first stages of hyperthermia!
Angela felt a pang of sympathy as WVM's face turned to that of lost little boy.
"Don't do that to me," she silently pleaded, "go back to your own arrogant world where you reign supreme".
Being a woman the practicalities of the situation came to the fore. If he died of cold at her door it might take some explaining. Releasing the lock on the passenger door she beckoned him in, better beside her than behind. WVM struggled in and sat grinning as much as his chattering teeth would allow.
"Door!" hissed Angela.
"Uh?"
"Shut the fucking door dick-head!" screamed Angela.
"Oh yeah, sorry," he grinned.
A full second passed as he attempted to move.
Realising that he was too cold to move she leaned passed him and hauled the door shut.
Whether his sniff was caused by his runny nose or his appreciation of her perfume she decided not to inquire.
"Christ you look a right dog in them clothes."
"In those clothes," she corrected. "And I seem to be better prepared than you".
"You think so too, eh?" His grin was getting weaker, he started to shiver uncontrollably.
Angela immediately regretted her outburst; poor man would get very ill if she didn't act quickly.
Tearing open the package she released the plastic thermal blanket and quickly wrapped it around him. Out of the thermos she poured a small amount of tea and handed it to him.
"Sip it because it's hot," she warned.
Dutifully he sipped, his face contorted. "Shee... it!" he complained. "You might have had the decency to make coffee".
This man was so obviously suffering from mild hypothermia but he still wanted to be the funny guy trying not to show weakness in front of a woman. She raised her hand as if to give him a backhand across the face as his mum had no doubt done many times.
"This is not the time to joke around, drink the tea then eat one of these energy bars." She tore off the wrapper and handed the bar to him.
He huddled in the blanket, sipping tea and biting into the bar; his eyes stared blankly ahead.
"God forgive me," prayed Angela to herself, "but he actually looks a bit of a blonde hunk."
WVM still shivered, his skin was pale. He glanced at his companion, and seeing her studying him looked ahead again.
"Like what you see?" he demanded.
"Look, I can kick you out of here to crawl back to your white van to freeze you bollocks off and die, so don't push your luck!" Her tone gave finality to the statement.
"Bet you're a school teacher."
Angela moved to open the door.
"Bloody hell you would too!" He seemed surprised.
"Drink some more tea and rub some warmth into your hands."
With exaggerated movements he attempted to rub one hand with another while trying to drink from the cup, almost spilling the contents. With an exasperated sigh she grabbed his free hand and began rubbing the fingers.
"Yanno this is probably technical rape," he claimed.
"Don't flatter yourself," she rebuffed him. "Look, your situation is serious, you are suffering from mild hyperthermia and we have to get some warmth in you. Get out of those wet clothes."
"Yanno? I don't feel like sex at the mo darlin, too cold, sorry, ask me later ok?"
"I am deadly serious; the heat is causing the moisture in your clothes to evaporate thus reducing your body temperature. If it continues as it is you will be dead in an hour".
Her stern tone and concerned look told him to be sensible and do as he was told. Pushing the blanket aside he tried to pull off his wet t-shirt but he did not have the strength. Angela pulled the garment over his head. As she grasped the clasp to his jeans a ready quip was on his lips but he couldn't find the strength to speak. He just undid the clasp and pulled down the zip. It was a struggle in the confined space to get off the jeans but eventually she succeeded.
Angela felt strangely guilty that her mind wandered to thoughts of what lie in the small underpants he wore, and where would she look as she stripped them off his tiny hips. She knew damned well of course!
"Oh please," she thought. "You are an adult woman of twenty-nine years, well versed in the male human anatomy; a cock is a cock, penis, dick etc".
"Can you manage your ..." she indicated the briefs. Predictably he shook his head. Sighing, she grasped the garment between her finger and thumbs as if they might be a baby's dirty nappy. He frowned.
"Oi! They were clean on this morning".
"That is why I am actually touching them," Angela retorted.
It was ridiculous but Angela found her heart beating a little faster as she pulled down the waistband. The lack of blood flow to all his extremities caused by the cold had caused his manhood to shrink to a sad little bit of flesh. It did have potential and she would be sure to keep a metaphorical eye on it. As to be expected of such an arrogant person, he had shaved his pubic area and balls. Having divested him of all his clothes, Angela now wrapped him in the tartan blanket and then the thermal plastic film.
A glance at the engine gauge indicated that the temperature was approaching the point when she would need to switch off and check that the radiator area was clear of snow. As Angela was concerned that he was not regaining any significant amount of colour in his face she made the decision to put up the inner-tent to retain more of the heat in the car.
The item un-packed she set about installing it to various points in the car interior but found that all the clothes that she was wearing were obstructing her movements. Off came the knitted hat and the thick coat.
WVM was appreciative. "Bugger me, you're a female!"
"Pity about the straw on your head".
"Natural blonde I hope".
"Bet you got tits under them jumpers".
Without qualms or guilt, she punched his upper arm hard.
There was no verbal response and only a pained look on his face indicated that he had accepted that he had made a mistake.
With the tent secured she folded the rear seats and laid out the sleeping bag.
"Get in," she commanded. He did as he was told and zipped it around him.
Angela's next task was to clear snow from both the radiator and exhaust; for which she had to again don those items she had discarded.
Snow had built up all around the vehicle making it difficult to open a door. Having forced her way out the wind took her breath away and the snow stung her eyes making it difficult to see. Clawing at the snow-covered bodywork she made her way to the rear.
"Damn! "Which side is the pipe?" she screamed.
Angel kicked at the area that she thought, luck was on her side, her foot hit the pipe and she cleared an area. A gust of wind plucked away her hat and instantly her head was covered in wet snow. Desperately she tried to reach the front of the vehicle but the conditions were impossible. Her pants were soaked through to the waistband, her feet saturated.
Struggling though the deep drifts had forced snow up and inside her coat soaking jumpers and top.
