Fallout (Crank 3)

As we start up the highway, the snow

begins to come down harder. It’s sticking on

the pavement, and once the temps

fall nighttime cold, it’s going to be icy.

“Hope you’ve got tread on your tires.”

Just got new rubber six months ago,

he says. And the truck has four wheel

drive. Think I’ll go ahead and put it into

four-by now, in fact. It’s a simple turn

of a knob, and the obvious traction

boost makes me feel slightly less

uneasy. We start up a long grade,

making deep tracks in the road slush.

And still the snow keeps falling.

Giant flakes, plummeting from the sky.

Holy crap! Check out this dumb-ass.

The words are barely out of Kyle’s

mouth when a black Hummer goes

barreling by. Hope the jerk doesn’t

have to stop fast. He’ll be toast.

Intuition, or maybe subconsciously

willing the universe to make it happen,

the Hummer’s brake lights flash,

and suddenly it is perpendicular

to us and drifting sideways, right into

our lane. Fuck, fuck, fuck, says Kyle,

hitting his own brakes and whipping

the wheel to keep from broadsiding

the bigger vehicle. No. This isn’t

happening. Everything seems to go