Buried Alive

BURIED ALIVE!

         My husband, Don, tromped into the kitchen looking like an Eskimo. He wore insulated, water-proof boots, jeans, a heavy, waist-length coat over a colorful flannel shirt, and a fur-lined cap with fold-down earmuffs. "Helen, have you seen my gloves?"

         I passed him a steaming cup of coffee. "They're sticking out of your coat pockets, Nannook," I teased.

         "Oh . . . thanks," he said, wearing a sheepish grin. He sipped his coffee carefully.

         "Are we ever going to be warm again?" I asked, seemingly incapable of adjusting to the Minnesota winter, having lived in south Texas all of my twenty-eight years.

         "Just as soon as I finish setting up the new computer system for Graystone Corporation and making sure it has no problems. Then we're out of here," Don said emphatically. "Another month at most."

         Our daughter, Trish, came into the room sleepily knuckling her blue eyes. "Yea! Just another month!"

         "Hey, you girls didn't have to come with me. You could be home in Deer Haven where the temperature is probably sixty-five today," Don reminded us.

         Trish hugged Don's waist, leaning her head against his ribs. "You know we wouldn't let you come to this awful place by yourself, Daddy."

         Don ruffled her honey-colored hair. "I know, sweetie. I'm glad you both came. And really, it won't be for much longer."

         Through the double-paned window above the sink I saw snow falling. The yard was already thick with the white stuff, though the street had been cleared by the plowing crews. The temperature was a bone-chilling eighteen degrees Fahrenheit, made even worse by the bitter wind chill factor.

         I felt like a prisoner. More than a week had passed since I last left our rented house. "Don, I need to do some Christmas shopping. Don't you think -- if I'm really careful -- Trish and I could go to the mall?"

         He made a worried face. "Sugar, you don't know how to drive in this junk. The only ice you've seen in Texas is in your tea."

         "And when did you become an expert? You're a Texan, too, remember."

         "But I'm a man. If I skid or get in any trouble, I can work my way out of it."

         "That did it -- we're going!" I said, exasperated at Don's old-fashioned notions of helpless womankind.

         Don knew by my tone of voice that he had crossed the line. And once I dug in my heels about something there was no swaying me. "Okay. But go slowly. My truck has four-wheel drive and I still have problems. Your car isn't equipped to drive on ice and snow."

         I stepped over and kissed his lips. "Don't worry -- if I get into any trouble I'll cry out for a big, burly man to rescue me. Seriously, Don, it's only ten miles. And I have to shop now if I'm going to have time to get all the gifts wrapped and mailed to our folks."

         He pulled his gloves onto his hands, snatched up his briefcase from the entryway table and blew Trish and me a kiss. "Just be careful. Love you guys."

         "Love you, too, Daddy," Trish answered for both of us.

         I heard the front door close and watched as Don, huddled against the biting wind, cleaned the snow from his windshield, then got into his truck and drove away.

         Trish and I looked at each other and grinned. "All right, Mom!" She sing-songed. "A-shopping we will go, a-shopping we will go, hi-ho the dairy-o, a-shopping we will go!"

         It seemed I wasn't the only one with cabin fever.

         The drive to the mall, I have to admit, was scary. The tires had a mind of their own, not always going in the direction I steered. We slid sideways once and bounced off of the curb, but, fortunately, didn't get stuck. "Good one, Mom," Trish commented sarcastically.

         "Remember daughter of mine, your birthday is coming up next month. If you want to live to see nine, you'll be nice to your mother."

         The mall parking lot was jammed with cars at ten in the morning. Parking a hundred yards from the entrance, Trish and I made our way across the treacherously slick asphalt, chilled to the core by the time we got inside. "I've got an idea, Trish . . . let's make a day of it. We can shop, have a nice lunch, see a matinee at the
multiplex theater they have here, then shop some more. How about it?"

         "You're such a smart mom, Mom! That sounds great!"

         She wasn't taking any chances on making her next birthday, I noted.

         We did all that we had planned. The movie didn't catch my attention, but Trish just had to see it because Freddie Prinze, Jr. was one of the stars. How quickly they grow up.

         Most of our shopping was complete when I remembered I needed wrapping paper and the other essentials for making pretty presents. The store catering to nothing but such items was directly across from an electronics store. "Mom, can I go watch the big screen television while you buy this stuff?" Trish asked, finally becoming bored with our trip.

         "Sure. But don't wander off. This won't take me long."

         She dashed away, her long legs pumping.

         I filled a shopping cart with several rolls of seasonally decorated paper, bows, ribbon, a six-pack of transparent tape and two rolls of heavy strapping tape for the packages I planned to mail home. The clerk was nearly finished checking me out when Trish ran up. "Mom, the TV said there's a blizzard going on outside. It blew in just a little while after we got here."

         The pleasant, middle-aged clerk said, "That's right. I'm worried about getting home tonight. We've already had a foot of snow, on top of what was already on the ground. In places, the drifts are several feet deep."

         I paid for my purchases. A few minutes later Trish and I were looking out the exit closest to where I had parked. White. Nothing but white. The snow was blowing almost horizontally. Visibility was less than twenty feet. The lot was a foot deep in snow. "Hold my hand, Trish," I said, hearing the worry in my own voice. I opened the door, hugged my packages close and headed for our car. The snow was flying so hard it hurt my eyes. After walking, head down, until I thought we had gone far enough, I looked around for our car. The few left on the lot were identical -- nothing but huge, cottony white shapes.

         Trish tugged at my hand. "Over here," she yelled to be heard above the whistling wind. "The pole with 'Lot N, Row 3' on it. You parked right in front of it, Mom."

         Leave it to Trish to remember such a detail.

         I brushed snow from the door lock and tried my key. It worked! Moments later, having cleared the windows of snow and depositing our packages in the back seat, I started the car, turned up the heater, clicked the wipers to "high" and began inching my way across the lot toward the road leading directly to our house. There were very few vehicles on the road. I edged along through the slush covered ice, barely able to see five feet beyond the front of the car.

         When we had gotten half way home, I saw flashing red lights ahead of us. A police officer appeared in the road, holding his right hand up; motioned for me to stop. I braked and rolled down my window when the officer walked up. He touched his forefinger to the brim of his cap. "Sorry, ma'am -- an 18-wheeler jack-knifed up ahead. Road's closed in both directions."

         "How long . . . ."

         "Don't know. This blizzard has the tow trucks busy. Could be hours."

         I chewed at my lower lip, frowning.

         "You can go back a mile and turn onto Crane Road. It will take you around the accident and lead you back to this road a couple of miles further along," the officer said.

         I nodded, rolled up my window, and made a U-turn to head back the way I had come. Trish saw the sign before I did. "There, Mom -- Crane Road. Turn left."

         I followed her directions. After a few minutes the snow began to let up some and we could see our surroundings. Crane Road was two lanes of blacktop with a four foot deep ditch running parallel to the road on either side. Steep cliffs rose up just beyond the ditches. Crane Road looked as though it had been carved through a mountain.

         The dashboard clock told me it was almost five in the afternoon. We were about out of daylight. I turned on my headlights and stepped a little harder on the accelerator. I wanted to be home.

         Beside me, Trish leaned awkwardly against her door. A nap would do her good.

         I began to understand why Don was hesitant to let me drive. Too many things could happen in a very short period of time -- like this blizzard. Although I was concerned, and concentrated very carefully on the road, I still didn't feel that there was anything to worry about. We'd be home before Don, I was certain.

         Then I saw the headlights.

         They were coming toward me rapidly -- on my side of the road! I leaned on my horn. Closer now, I saw the man at the wheel snap his head up as though he had been sleeping. The terror on his face must have matched my own. With all of my strength, I twisted the steering wheel to the right. The man wrenched his wheels to his right, too. I braced my left arm on the wheel for the impending collision and instinctively threw my right arm across Trish's body.

         Our fenders missed colliding by mere inches. In the rear-view mirror I saw the other automobile straighten out and continue on, the red taillights fading in the dark. But my car was out of control. The tires locked in a nauseating skid. Just before we slid sideways over the edge of the ditch I heard Trish scream.

         Then silence.

         When I came around moments later, Trish was slapping my face none to gently. "Okay, okay, stop treating me like one of the Three Stooges," I said, opening my eyes.

         "Mom! I thought . . . you were . . . ."

         "I'm fine, baby. How are you?"

         "A little cut on my forehead, but that's all. You have a big knot on your cheek."

         "Well, we're alive. Now, let's get out of here."

         Suddenly aware that the engine was still running, I turned the ignition key and killed the motor. All I could see from my window was the snow-covered side of the ditch. Too close to open my door. "We'll have to get out on your side, Trish."

         "Can't, Mom. The door is right up against the side of the ditch."

         We had slid into a perfect trap from both sides. "I'll have to try breaking out the front glass. That way is clear," I said.

         I moved from behind the steering wheel to the center of the seat, scooted up and braced my back against the seat, then raised both feet and kicked out, flat-footed against the windshield. Nothing. Again. A crack appeared at the top of the glass and snaked downward. This was going to work. We we're going to be all right.

         As I prepared to try again I heard the sound. A roar. The ground beneath us trembled.

         "Mom?"

         Before I could assure Trish that all was well, the avalanche of snow rushed down the mountainside, pounding the roof. We were buried beneath a sea of white. On and on it continued. Now I was grateful I hadn't been able to break the glass. Had I been successful, Trish and I would now be suffocating in the darkness.

         Finally, the thundering noise ceased. Now I was scared. I fumbled in the pitch dark until I found the interior light switch and turned it on. Thank heaven -- it still worked.

         "Mom, I'm scared," Trish sniffed.

         I pulled her close. "Me, too, a little. But someone will find us and get us out of here."

         "How can they find us, Mom? We're down in a ditch covered up with snow. I bet you can't even see our car from the road."

         It occurred to me that she was probably accurate in her estimation. But what could we do? "Let's just rest a bit and think. You know how good we women are at thinking things out, right?"

         She licked her lips, then leaned against me. "I'm cold, Mom. Can you turn on the heater?"

         The temperature within the car was becoming chill, and dropping with each passing minute. "I can't. We're packed in snow. The carbon monoxide fumes can't escape from the muffler. It would fill the car and poison us." I explained, thankful I had thought of it before turning the heater on and sending both of us to a warm, fatal slumber. "Snuggle up and you'll be warmer," I told Trish. "I'm going to turn the light out now and save the battery, okay?"

         Sounding not at all like my out-going, fearless child, Trish sobbed, "'Kay."

         Trish woke me from a dream in which she and Don and I sat on the bank of a river, dressed in shorts, sipping iced-tea and watching the corks on our fishing lines for a nibble. "Mom, I can't breathe."

         Instantly alert, I turned on the light and noted that my breathing, too, was coming in labored gasps. I hadn't even thought about the suffocating effects of the snow. The fresh air in the car was rapidly running out. Think, think, think!, I screamed silently.

         I tried the doors again. They wouldn't budge. If I broke out the windshield the car would fill with snow. But maybe we could dig our way to the surface before we ran out of oxygen. No. Way too much snow had fallen upon us.

         Then I noticed the packages in the rear seat. Wrapping paper. On stiff cardboard cylinders. Hollow cylinders! I reached back and dragged the bag into the front seat. "Help me, Trish. Unroll all of the paper."

         "Why?"

         "Just do it!" I shouted, fear making me forget myself. The crushed look on Trish's pretty face brought me back to reality. "I'm sorry, baby. Mom is as scared as you are. We need to work together to get out of this jam. Will you help me?"

         She swallowed hard, but then the corners of her mouth turned upward. "Sure, Mom. What do you want me to do?"

         I touched her soft cheek with trembling fingers. "Okay! Take the paper off of the rolls. Matter of fact, wrap yourself in the paper when you get it off -- it will act as insulation and keep you warmer."

         She shrugged as though I'd lost my mind, but did as I told her. Soon we had six empty cardboard cylinders, each about two and a half feet long, and Trish was garbed in holiday colors from feet to neck. She made crinkling noises when she moved. "Now what?" she asked.

         "I'm going to twist the end of one roll and stuff it into another," I explained, tearing into the shopping bag in search of other items. Found it. "Then I'm going to use this strapping tape to tape them securely together." I connected two cylinders, showing Trish. "Now, for the hard part."

         I rolled my window down about halfway and began scooping snow into the car. When I had created good sized hole I started to stick the first tube upward into the snow. "See, I'll keep taping them together and pushing them up through the snow until it breaks through. Then we'll have fresh air, at least. And I'll be able to tell how deeply we're buried."

         "Mom, wait. If you do it that way snow is going to plug up the paper roll. You need to put something over the top."

         "You, my dear, are your mother's daughter," I praised, aware that the air was becoming thinner as we spoke. "But what can we use? Tape?"

         Trish's forehead wrinkled in thought. "Uh unh. If you did that, you'd have to push it all the way up, then pull it back down to take off the tape, then put it up again." She suddenly climbed over the seat and began emptying packages. "Here! The round plastic top on the carton of 'day of the week' undies you got for Aunt Patsy ought to fit over the top of the paper roll."

         I had bought the underwear as a gag. My sister, Patsy, and I were always giving each other silly things before we gave our real presents.

         Trish pulled the plastic lid off and handed it to me. It was slightly larger in circumference than the paper tube. She saw that immediately. "Aw. That won't work. It'll come off when you push the tube up through the snow."

         "No it won't, honey -- this is perfect! Look. If I tape one side of it to the tube it won't come off. And, since it will be connected on only one side, once it breaks through the snow it should blow off the tube!"

         "Yea, Mom!" She said enthusiastically.

         Praying, I connected the lid to the first tube and shoved it upward through the snow until most of it had disappeared. Then I taped the second tube to the bottom of the first and pushed it skyward. I repeated the process with a third, then a fourth tube. On the fourth cylinder I felt a decrease in the amount of pressure I was having to exert to plunge the tubes up through the packed snow. Our taped together technology had worked -- the top was above the snow. Close to eight feet of snow covered us, judging by the length and number of the tubes I used. We would never have made it if we had tried climbing out of the windshield.

         I could already feel cold air whistling down the tubing. Our breathing problem was solved.

         "Don't suppose you have a hamburger in any of those sacks, huh?" Trish, asked.

         "Your tummy growling like a St. Bernard's, too? Well, as a matter of fact . . . ." It was my turn to dump out the contents of a couple of bags until I found what I was looking for. "How about Aunt Cynthia's peanut brittle and Uncle Clyde's fruitcake?" I said, handing the containers to Trish.

         "Way cool, Mom! But nobody really eats fruitcake do they?"

         "We do. Tear me off a hunk, if you please."

         Trish giggled. And I knew I had to get us out of this deadly situation. She was much too precious for the world to lose. What I had said earlier, in jest, about her not living to see her ninth birthday hit me like a sledgehammer. God, the stupid things we say sometimes.

         With our stomachs filled, our thirst quenched with handfuls of snow and the added warmth of Christmas paper, we laid down and cuddled on the front seat. The whole car smelled of peanut brittle. A good thing.

         A short time later, having no alternative for easing our bulging bladders but to just let loose, soaking our jeans, the bitter scent of urine filled the car. A bad thing.

         The lighted dash clock said it was two A.M. We'd been buried almost nine hours.

         When I woke, the time was seven in the morning. I switched on the interior light again, happy that the battery was still functioning, then jabbed the radio button, wondering why I hadn't thought of it sooner. The local news and weather report were just beginning:

         "Good morning from WTWN, your most up to the minute news station serving the Twin Cities. Heading today's news is the blizzard that swept across the state yesterday, leaving traffic accidents and stranded motorists by the dozen in its wake. Three people are known dead and at least two are reported as missing. Temperatures are expected to range from eight to twelve degrees today but -- good news -- the snow has stopped!

         "In other news today, President Bush said . . . ."

         I switched it off then, wondering if Trish and I were the two people they were talking about as missing.

         Trish woke up and yawned. I heard hear her jaws pop. "Huh. We're still here."

         "Afraid so. I haven't thought of a way to get us out."

         "If you had a cellular phone, like Dad, you could call for help. Or a CB radio like Uncle Clyde. You could get on there and say, 'Hey, good buddies, come dig us out of here! Ten-four'."

         "Or two cans with string tied between them," I said, trying to match her silliness.

         "Ugh, paleface -- or smoke signals," Trish added.

         At first I chuckled at her creativity, then realized it might not be a bad idea. Smoke signals. Smoke signals! "Trish! That's it!" I cried, hugging her so hard she exhaled with a whoosh and a crinkle of wrapping paper. "We can burn something and fan the smoke up the wrapping tubes. Surely someone driving by will see it. They have to."

         I looked around us. All sorts of paper to burn, but the smoke would be gray, nearly invisible against the snow blanketed landscape. Mentally disregarding one thing after another, the rubber floor mat at my feet finally caught my attention. Rubber. I remembered a time when I saw a tire burning. Remembered the thick, black smoke that filled the sky!

         Yanking the mat from the floor, I tried to tear off a piece. Tough. Too tough to tear. "Bite it, Mom. Tear it with your teeth," Trish suggested.

         And I did. A fragment about three inches long by two inches wide hung from my mouth. "Ugh! This is worse than the fruitcake," I told Trish, still trying to keep her spirits high. I pushed in the cigarette lighter and waited impatiently for it to spring back out. "Come on, come on," I pleaded.

         Just then the interior light flickered. The battery was going. But not before the lighter popped out! I ripped it from the dashboard and, careful not to set the cardboard on fire, held the glowing red coils to the piece of rubber. The rubber flared and hot droplets fell to die in the snow outside the window. Beautiful black smoke curled upward!

         I let the rubber burn until I couldn't hold it any longer, turned off the light to conserve the battery, waited ten minutes, then chewed off another section of floor mat and repeated the process in the dark. And again. And again.

         After ten tries the lighter stayed in its socket. The battery was drained by the cold and the use to which we had put it.

         "Mom . . . what now?" Trish asked solemnly.

         In the cold and dark I held her. Kissed the top of her head. Hoped silently that she wouldn't suffer. I began retracting the tubes, to cut off our source of fresh air, praying such a death would be painless.

         I lowered the cardboard tubes only a matter of inches before I fully understood what I was doing. I was giving up. After all Trish and I had done to survive, I was preparing for the end; hastening it, in fact. I quickly shoved the tube upward again. With each moment of life came hope, however slim, of being found.

         Bare seconds later I began to doubt my sanity. The tiniest of sounds seemed to be coming from the tube beside me. Then I thought God had personally answered my prayers when I heard the booming, hollow-sounding voice. "Hello down there! Are you all right?"

         Pulling the end of the tube close to my lips, I shouted as loudly as I could between elated sobs of happiness. "Yes . . . yes! P--please get us out!"

         "Bet on it, lady. Here we come!" The voice from above answered.

         Two hours later a state road crew had shoveled down to us, carefully shattered the front windshield, and pulled us into glorious daylight after our seventeen hours in hell.

         Don met us at the hospital where we were taken for examination. Other than minor bruises, Trish and I were both fine. Don hugged us to him, seemingly trying to merge the three of us into one. He swept my hair back from my forehead and kissed me with such tenderness that I began to cry. Once I let it go, so did Trish.

         Hospital visitors glanced our way with curiosity as the three of us, alternately laughing and crying, walked out to Don's truck.

         Safe at home.

         Don continued to blame himself for letting me take the car out. For the tenth time I tried to reassure him, "Don, darling, you couldn't know there was a blizzard sneaking into the state. You couldn't know that an accident would make us detour, and that some guy asleep at the wheel would run us off the road. You couldn't know that we would be trapped by a fluke avalanche, for heaven's sake! And besides, it all turned out all right. We're home now."

         "But if a passing motorist hadn't seen your smoke and called the highway crew . . . ."

         "But someone did see it, Don. It's over."

         "No! It won't be over until we're away from here. In Texas you don't have to worry about blizzards and avalanches. We're going home."

         "As much as I'd love to, think of this, dear: Texas has tornadoes. Hailstorms. Flash floods. Hurricanes on the coast. No place is completely safe. Your job demands that you sometimes have to travel and stay gone for months at a time. And Trish and I are your family. Wherever you are, that's where we'll be -- and that will be home."

         Beside me, Trish nodded in agreement.

         Tears broke from Don's brown eyes and he gathered us close again. He swallowed noisily. "You know, I love you guys."

         Trish squeezed my hand.

         We knew.

The End