Chapter 5 - The Blizzard's Trap
While Roman unleashed an army of dark suits and flashing sirens across the Chicago metropolitan area, I was fighting for my life on a desolate county two-lane road thirty miles north of Rockford.
The storm had turned vicious. Snow fell in blinding, horizontal sheets, turning the world outside the windshield into a hypnotic, swirling void of white. The wipers struggled against the encroaching crust of ice, groaning with every sweep. Route 20 was completely unplowed.
I had planned to reach a quiet bed-and-breakfast in Galena owned by an old college friend who knew nothing about Roman's world. But the storm had outpaced me.
Then, the labor pains became unbearable.
What had started as dull lower-back aches in Chicago had sharpened into tearing, breath-stealing spasms that gripped my entire abdomen every four minutes. I leaned over the wheel, groaning, sweat soaking the collar of my white maternity sweater despite the frigid air seeping through the old car's vents.
Breathe, Savannah. Just breathe.
Another contraction hit—violent, relentless. My foot slipped off the accelerator. As my vision blurred from the pain, the front tires hit a massive drift of compacted black ice hidden beneath fresh powder.
The Subaru fishtailed violently.
I gasped, fighting the wheel, trying to steer into the skid just as Roman had taught me years ago on an empty track. But the weight of the old wagon and the sheer slickness of the road were unforgiving. The vehicle spun a full 180 degrees, sliding backward off the shoulder, before slamming hard into a snow-choked drainage ditch.
The impact jerked me against the seatbelt. The engine sputtered, wheezed, and died.
Silence rushed in, broken only by the shriek of the wind rocking the car on its tilted axis.
"No, no, no..." I whimpered, frantically turning the key.
The starter clicked weakly. The battery was drained. The exhaust was buried in three feet of snow.
I reached for my belly. The contraction subsided, leaving me gasping, trembling from adrenaline and cold. A warm, terrifying sensation followed. My water had broken.
"Not now," I cried into the darkness, pressing my trembling palms against my stomach. "Please, baby girl, not out here. Just wait. Please wait."
I opened the glove compartment, searching for a flashlight. Nothing but an old tire gauge and an expired registration. I reached into the backseat, pulled my duffle bag forward, and dragged out the thickest fleece blankets I had packed. I wrapped myself tightly, pulling my knit hat down over my ears.
Outside, the temperature was dropping into the single digits. The windows were rapidly frosting over from the inside, sealing me inside an icy cocoon.
I had run away to protect my dignity. I had run away because watching Roman hold another woman had severed the invisible thread keeping me tied to his gilded cage. But now, sitting in a ditch miles from help, freezing to death with our unborn daughter preparing to enter the world, pride felt like a hollow, lethal poison.
Roman, the thought slipped into my mind before I could stop it. Where are you?
He had always been there to shield me. Whenever trouble arose, Roman had moved mountains with a single phone call. He was terrifying to the rest of the world, but in his arms, I had always believed nothing could destroy me.
Until he destroyed me himself.
May you like
Another contraction tore through my midsection, longer and far more agonizing than the last. I cried out, the sound muffled by the howling wind outside. I curled onto my side on the passenger seat, clutching my grandmother's blanket, watching my breath plume white against the freezing roof of the car.
If nobody found us before dawn, my daughter and I would simply become another statistic of the Christmas Eve blizzard.
