James Wilson had spent the last sixteen years behind the wheel of a big rig, navigating the winding and treacherous roads that stretched across the United States. Over years of long hauls, he’d seen it all: sunrises over empty highways, storm clouds rolling in like angry gods, and hitchhikers chasing their destinations. He’d thumbed rides himself more than once, but nothing could have prepared him for what he encountered that frigid winter night.
The wind howled like a banshee, slamming against the side of his eighteen-wheeler as it trudged forward. Snow fell thick and fast, blanketing the asphalt in a slick white sheet. James gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles whitening from the strain.
Early in his career, he’d learned that winter driving demanded total focus. One small mistake, one moment of inattention, and the road could claim another life.
The radio crackled with static. The weather service warned drivers to stay off the highways, but for James, it was too late. He muttered that his shift had dragged on—delays at his last stop forced him to drive deep into the night, exhausted and yearning to get home. He’d been on the road for nearly eighteen hours, and the warmth of his modest apartment in Pittsburgh had never felt so inviting.
Around a bend on a desolate stretch of Route 15 near Williamsport, Pennsylvania, his headlights caught something in the darkness. At first, he thought it was a trick of light and snow—maybe a fallen branch or a discarded jacket. But as he drew closer, his stomach twisted. It was a person.
Instinctively easing off the gas and flipping on his hazard lights, he pulled the truck to a stop a few yards away. Throwing on a heavy winter coat, James climbed out of the cab. His boots crunched on fresh snow as he approached. Before him lay a young woman.
She was curled into a fetal position, half-buried in snow, unmoving. James crouched beside her, his breath clouding in the freezing air. Gently, he brushed snow from her face.
Her skin was icy, her lips blue. Long dark hair splayed across the snow, and her clothes—a thin coat and dress—were wholly unsuited for the cold. “Hey, can you hear me?” he asked, softly shaking her shoulder.
Her pulse was faint but there—she was alive. There was no time to waste. Hypothermia had set in, and if he didn’t act fast, she wouldn’t make it. Scooping her up, he was struck by how light she was—almost weightless, skin and bones. Her head rested against his chest as he carried her to the truck.
Climbing into the cab, James cranked the heater to full blast. He laid the woman on the passenger seat and started the engine. Grabbing a blanket from the storage compartment, he wrapped her trembling body, then unscrewed the cap of a thermos and held it to her lips.
“Come on, sweetheart, take a sip,” he urged, trying to pour a bit of warm coffee into her mouth. She stirred slightly, her eyelashes fluttering, but consciousness didn’t return. James cursed under his breath. He needed to get her to a hospital, fast.
He shifted into gear and pulled onto the road. The tires slipped briefly but soon gripped the pavement. Gripping the wheel, he wondered: what was she doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Had she been in an accident? Or abandoned? Questions swirled, but right now, getting her to safety was all that mattered.
Thirty miles ahead, near Lewisburg, there was a small truck stop. It wasn’t a hospital, but it offered shelter and a phone to call for help. He glanced at the woman—her breathing remained shallow, her face pale as a ghost. She still hadn’t come to.
“Hold on, you’ll be okay,” he said, hoping she could hear. The blizzard intensified, visibility dropping to near zero. The headlights barely pierced the white curtain. James clenched the wheel. “Come on, don’t give up,” he whispered to himself.
A faint whisper broke the silence: “Don’t let him…” He whipped his head toward the woman. Her lips barely moved, but she was speaking. “What do you mean?” he asked, but no answer came. A chill ran down his spine—and not from the cold. Something was wrong.
Adjusting the blanket, he noticed a leather wallet slip from her coat and land on his lap. James hesitated before picking it up. Digging through someone’s things without permission felt wrong, but he needed to know who she was. Maybe there was a contact number. He opened the wallet and pulled out an ID.