I’m not sure what woke me up first, the pain in my arm, the headache in my head, or the cold air that brushed my face. Whichever it was, it didn’t matter at that moment, for I soon realized that I was hanging upside-down on the inside of my car, my seat belt keeping me afloat from the roof. My groggy eyes stayed opened as I looked around my turned around world, my head spinning from all the blood that had flowed into it. My arm felt like it was about to detach from my shoulder blade from how long it had more than likely been holding me up.

I tried to shake off my confusion, and refocus my eyes, but only caused my head to run a mile a second. I groaned in even more pain as I hung from that ceiling. I calmly looked up at the seat belt buckle that was holding me like a leech sucking my blood, and reluctantly forced my uninjured arm to the buckle of the seat, and pressed the button. I landed on my sore arm, yelping out of pain as I did. I laid motionless on the roof of my car, trying to ignore the pain that flooded my body. I looked around even more, noticing the torn up boxes and smashed food cans and water bottles that stained my roof.

I moaned a silent complaint at the mess, thinking how much of a chore it was going to be when I call somebody to help.

After a moment of stillness, I finally had enough strength to push myself off the ground and pull out my phone. It was cracked in many places, but it was still functionable. I dialed nine-one-one and waited for the emergency respondent to pick up the other end. What I heard made my heart skip a beat.

“We’re sorry, but the number you have dialed is not available, or is no longer in service at this time. Please, check the number, or try your call again later.” Fear crawled up my spine as I heard those words. I clutched my hand against my phone and tried to calm myself down as best as I could.

I kept cursing at myself over and over again, trying to think of what to do next while trying to slow down my rapid heart rate. No matter what I did, I simply couldn’t get over what was happening. I was miles away from any sort of civilization and I was in the middle of what news reporters called the worst blizzard in years. I couldn't have been any more furious. In a fit of rage and anger, I grabbed my phone and chucked it as hard as I could, not caring what happened to it. I heard it smash against the metal door of my car and flop down against the broken glass. I looked up at the spot that I had thrown it at and stared.

Maybe it was the fear, or the urgency of the situation, but I slowly got on my hands and knees and crawled to the passenger door. I tried to open the door with what little strength that I had at that moment and felt it give with resistance. I gave another moan and realized that I must’ve been knocked out longer than I'd anticipated for the snow to pile up against the door.

I sat down and starting kicking the door, just hoping that it would provide enough space for me to get through. Eventually after minutes of kicking, and getting a sore leg in the process, I finally managed to get the door to crack open.

I squeezed through the crack in the door and looked at my surroundings. Everything was as I expected: cold, dark, and ultimately snowing, but the one thing the confused me the most was that there were no tracks anywhere. One would expect that after getting into a car crash like I did, that you’d leave some sort of trail to your car, especially in the snow, but I didn’t see anything. It was as if the ground wasn’t touched in forever.

With the little options that I had, I went back inside my car and just sat there. I didn’t know what to do. What could I have done? I had two options at that point, and both would either see me dead or on the brink of death. I could either stay in my car and wait for someone to find me, or I could take my chances, gather as much food and water as I could, and walk through the treacherous weather. Either one could end up with me dead. I took a gamble and decided that I would be walking through the cold depths of hell. I was constantly thinking of all the what ifs and might be’s, but ultimately it was my only shot at finding solitude. Nobody knew who I was, nobody cared about me, and I doubt anybody would’ve sent a search party to find me. So I had only one real option.

I got away from the door and began crawling around the roof of my car. I started rummaging around through the muck and garbage for anything useful and anything that could help me get past that winter hellhole. I managed to find my grandpa's thick winter jacket being crushed under some ripped open cardboard boxes. It was a little torn here and there, but it was in fine condition for the most part.

I wrapped myself in the jacket, trying my best to warm up and protect myself from the harsh cold air that perpetrated my car. No matter how many years I’ve had it, or how many washes Kathleen put it through, it smelled just like my grandpa. Old. In a sense, it gave me a small bit of comfort in that cold, small interior. I slowly put my arms through the holes and wore it properly before I began looking through the wreck again.

I pushed back torn pieces of boxes and mushed food as I looked for anything that was salvageable, and found a rather familiar backpack hidden in the far back of my car. I had found Timothy’s backpack. I had completely forgotten that it was in the car. Unlike other elementary kids, his backpack was big, bigger than his body, if I remember correctly. I tenderly picked up the large backpack and held it in my hands as memories of Timmy struggling with the bag flooded my mind. He'd kept complaining about how heavy it was, or how stupid it was for him to be carrying it. It brought a bittersweet smile on my face.

Kathleen and I had to get him the overwhelming backpack because of how many textbooks he had to carry. A child his age shouldn’t have been carrying textbooks in the first place, but it wasn’t my place to decide. The teachers held the belief that his textbooks would get destroyed by the other kids if he kept them in class, and I sorta had to agree with them. The neighborhood we enrolled him in wasn’t exactly the safest place, and I doubt the kids there would be any better. Whenever I went into Timmy’s classroom for a parent-teacher conference, I would notice that many of the desks were carved in, that all of the textbooks were torn in many places, and that there was a fair amount of trash hidden in corner of the room. That was his AP class. I don’t even want to imagine the monstrosity of the regular classes, but I’m getting sidetracked here. Let’s move onto the rest of the story.

I soon planted the backpack down on the ground and opened it up. I saw many textbooks, binders, and pieces of papers in an unorganized mess. I sighed and began to take out the many pieces of papers and notebooks that were above into the small compartment. While I was ripping out textbooks and missing assignments, I felt something sharp poke my finger. I pulled my hand back and hissed in pain as I saw a small trickle of blood flow down my finger and drip onto the roof. I looked back into the backpack and saw an unsheathed knife sticking up from one of the binders. With much more care this time, I put my hand back in the backpack and pulled out the rather sharp blade.

Why did my son have a knife? Well, like I said before, the neighborhood his school was in was not the safest place he could be. So, practically on the first day of school, I had bought a knife and had given it to him. I told him never to use it unless he had to. I knew it would’ve gotten my son in trouble, and I more than likely would've gotten fired from my job if they found it, but I valued the life of my son more than what any job could give me.

The knife in question was about three inches long, had an orange handle, and was quite easy to conceal. He could’ve easily hidden it in his pocket, I still don’t know why he carried it in his backpack. Maybe it was uncomfortable for him, or maybe he just forgot about it. Either way, I quickly pocketed the blade and placed the then empty backpack on the passenger side door before I continued searching through the wreckage.

As I searched through the salvage, I managed to find some water bottles that weren’t cracked or broken. Three bottles of water might not have been enough for me to get to society, but it should’ve lasted me a bit in the cold. I laid whatever was usable near the backpack and before I continued my search through the muck.

This time, however, I had found a couple of cans of food scattered across the ground. They were still intact and, just like before, there was hardly anything left. I only managed to collect four cans of peaches, but that was all I could find that wasn’t either smashed or open. I set them aside with the backpack and continued to search for whatever I could take with me

A few minutes later, scrounging through more garbage, I swept off some cold food that was on top of a box and was absolutely shocked by what I saw. Sitting there, undamaged, was a large, metal evidence box with its lock broken. I tenderly grabbed the small slide of the box and pulled it off to see my revolver lying inside of its holster on top of what must’ve been a hundred or so bullets. I didn’t count them. I gasped and backpedaled away from my gun, out of complete shock at what I was seeing. I’d handed my gun and badge over to the P.D when I was fired, knowing that they’d probably put it in lockup for some other rookie to use. Yet, there it was, in my car, untouched by the damage that had happened.

I slowly crawled back to the gun in question and stared at it, not completely certain what to do in that situation. I tentatively grasped the gun in my hand and held it. The grip of the gun still felt so familiar, even after I left it months ago.

I looked back at the passenger side door and a terrible thought struck me. Out there, in the harsh cold, was bound to be some wild animal looking for food, and I doubt that it would have any qualms trying to eat me. I looked back down at the revolver and let out a exasperated sigh, watching my breath turn into a white fog. I took the gun’s holster and wrapped it around my belt line, pulling on the straps to make sure it wouldn't fall off. I grabbed the box of ammo with a careful grip and ebbed my way to the door before I shoved the light box into the backpack. I struggled a little bit to get the odd shape in there, but I managed to get it in.

As soon as I was happy with my work, I turned back around and began looking through my car again; always keeping one hand on my revolver in case I may have to use it for some reason. But as I got deeper and deeper into my car, I kept finding more and more sniper rifle bullets. None being too far from one another. As soon as I got to the back of my car, and pushed aside the junk that had covered the back, I found my rifle. It was still in pretty good condition considering how many boxes were on top of it, and on the plus side, its ammo was no more than a few inches away from it, although it had spilled all over. I grabbed the weapon, made sure it was empty, and tossed it near the backpack.

I grabbed the box of ammo, its torn holes spilling out a few more rounds as I moved it. As soon as I was close enough to the backpack, I grabbed the box and tried to lay it inside the backpack. Instead, it tore in half and spilled everywhere inside the bag. I cursed under my breath and tossed the box aside. I turned around and collected any loose ammo that I could get my hands on and dropped them in the backpack with their brothers. I spent a few minutes on this task before I stopped, happy with how many rounds that I had collected. I grabbed my rifle soon after and began to load it. When I was finally done loading the gun, I looked down at it with a pensive gaze.

I hadn't fired a gun ever since Timothy died, even months before that, and I had more than likely gotten pretty rusty. I put the rifle down and looked down at what I had collected. The supplies should've been enough to find something out there, in that cold landscape. I grabbed the cans of food and the bottles of water and tossed them inside of the backpack with carelessness. I soon zipped up the backpack and put the straps around my arms, making sure they wouldn’t fall off while walking. I grabbed my rifle and slinked it over my shoulder before I shimmed my way to the passenger side door. After a few minutes of squeezing through the small hole, I finally managed to get outside of my ruined car.

Once I was outside, I felt the iciness of the wind smack my face and felt the coldness of the snow numb my feet. I was half tempted to go back inside my car and wait, but if I did, the cold would likely kill me before anybody could find me. Without much choice, I began my trudge through the snow, into the everlasting vastness of the cold desert

I was in that Alaskan plain for three days. I hadn't found a living soul out there. The only company I had was the blistering wind and the icy ground. You know how hard it is to sleep in a blizzard that never ends? I hadn't slept in those three days, the howls of the winds kept me up, and coldness of the snow froze my skin.

I started seeing things after two days without sleep. I saw people out there, I thought I saw cities, I even managed to see figments of Kathleen and Timothy out there. I knew they weren’t real, but that didn't stop my emotions from breaking loose. However, those were the least of my concerns; I was more concerned about my physical state.

I was thankful that there wasn't any hostile wildlife out there, but that didn't make my situation any better. Most of my water had turned into ice and all of my food had been frozen solid; they were useless. I survived out in that wasteland by forcing everything down my throat. I knew I could survive three weeks without food, but my water situation wasn't exactly helping.

I was so thirsty when I was walking out there, that I ate the snow. I would pick up a small patch of snow and put it in my mouth, but it didn't exactly end well for my mouth. When I bit into the cold treat, I felt my tongue burst into flames and my mouth cry in agony. The bitter coldness of the ice had nearly frostbitten my tongue and left my mouth to burn.

It didn't look good for me, yet somehow through the coldness of winter,I managed to find train tracks. While it may not have been a safe haven, the tracks paved the road to one. I had followed those tracks as best as I could in the snow, and eventually, after three days of restlessness, coldness and starvation. I had finally found a sliver of hope.

Author's Note

After this chapter, James's journey will finally commence. I didn't enjoy making this, but I needed to make it for you to understand the situation James was in, and what he has on him to get through it.

If you found any grammar mistakes that I missed, please tell me about them in the comments and I will try to fix it. Thank you for your output, and have a nice day.