Nine Lives To Die

Her windshield wipers couldn’t keep up with the snowfall. Deputy Cooper struggled in a police department SUV to reach a wreck on Garth Road. Her siren blared. If she was having troubles, she wondered how long it would take the ambulance to reach the scene of the accident.

Finally, just beyond the sign for Barracks Road Stables, she saw a new Explorer pulled off the road on the shoulder. She parked behind it, quickly got out. The young man who had pulled over and had made the 911 call got out of his old Corolla. He turned up his coat collar.

Cooper nodded to him, and he stayed behind her as she opened the door to the vehicle in front of his ancient Corolla.

“He was dead when I pulled over, ma’am.”

Cooper noted that Pete Vavilov—dead in the driver’s seat—wore his seatbelt. No blood. She closed the door, checked the skid marks that were rapidly fading. He just slid off the road. She also noticed another fading pair of tracks behind the Explorer.

“Did you see anyone else?”

“No, ma’am—I mean, no, Officer.”

She looked around. No electric lights anywhere. The power died again.

“Let me take your information so you can go home. It’s an evil night. If I have more questions, I’ll find you. I know I will have some questions.”

He handed her his driver’s license. She wrote down his stats.

“You’ve got about nine miles of bad road.” She used the old expression. “Think that car can make it?”

“I hope so.”

“Here.” She handed him her card. “That’s my cell. If you get stuck, call me. I’ll get you home in my SUV. Might take a while because we’ll need to take care of this, but if I can’t leave, I’ll send another officer.”

“Thank you.” He opened his squeaky car door, grateful to be inside, and slowly drove away.

The temperature kept dropping, but Cooper wanted to investigate as much as she could. Already, the tracks of the young man’s Corolla and whoever pulled up behind the Explorer were indistinguishable now.

She opened the door again. Felt Pete’s neck. She knew he was dead, but if she felt his temperature, she’d have an idea of how long he’d been there. Not very long. Then she noticed that his right arm and hand hung down over the center console. The interior of the Explorer was black, otherwise she might have noticed this bizarre fact right away.

Pete Vavilov was missing his index and middle fingers.