Mike Miller had spent the last twenty years of his life behind the wheel of an eighteen-wheeler, navigating the winding, treacherous mountain passes of West Virginia and the long stretches of the Rust Belt. Over those decades of endless hauls, he’d seen it all: from lonely sunrises over empty interstates to heavy storm clouds that looked like the wrath of God.
He’d picked up his fair share of hitchhikers back in the day, remembering his own younger years traveling on a prayer and a thumb, but nothing could have prepared him for what he encountered that freezing winter night. The wind howled like a freight train, slamming into the sides of his rig as he pushed through the whiteout.
The snow was coming down in a thick wall, quickly burying the asphalt under a slick, treacherous white sheet. Mike gripped the wheel until his knuckles turned white, his eyes strained against the glare of his own headlights.
Early in his career, he’d learned that winter driving required absolute, unwavering focus. One small slip, one second of distraction, and the icy road would claim another life without a second thought.
The CB radio crackled with static, occasionally breaking through with weather service warnings advising everyone to stay off the roads, but for Mike, that advice was a few hours too late.
He muttered a quiet curse to himself. The shift had run long; a delay at the last loading dock had forced him into the graveyard shift, exhausted and dreaming of nothing but his own bed. He’d been on the road for nearly eighteen hours, and the thought of his quiet house in the suburbs of Pittsburgh had never felt so far away.
As he rounded a sharp bend on a remote, unlit stretch of highway near the state line, his high beams caught a strange shape on the shoulder. At first, he figured it was just the snow playing tricks on his eyes—maybe a fallen branch or a discarded tarp. But as he got closer, his stomach did a slow roll. It was a person. Instinctively, he eased off the gas, flipped on his hazards, and brought the multi-ton rig to a halt just a few yards from the motionless figure.
Grabbing his heavy work coat, Mike climbed out of the warm cab and into the biting cold. His boots crunched loudly on the fresh snow as he approached. A young woman lay there, curled into a fetal position in a desperate attempt to stay warm. The snow had already partially covered her, and she wasn’t moving. Mike knelt beside her, his breath hitching in the freezing air, and gently brushed the snow from her face.
Her skin was dangerously cold, and her lips had a bluish tint—clear signs of advanced hypothermia…
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