THE TIRES bobbed again south of Cedar Rapids.

The tail pulled one way, and the hood lurched the other, and the radio was thrown at the dash, and it busted, and the cigarettes were pitched at the windshield, and then the snowbank rushed up at the hood.

He kept his hands top of the wheel. He panted in the car. He felt the blood well in his face. He shook his head, blinked hard. He squeezed the wheel, held the grip, put his forehead against the plastic between his hands.

He worried leaving was a mistake, or the way he did it was, and the snow was something like thunder, the shadow of a coming fury.

One arm jerked at the elbow and knocked on the dash. He tapped a finger against the windshield, at the snow. I’ll go farther, he said.

He got out of the car. The snow fell soft and fast. It was quiet in the busy white.

He went to the exit. He walked the shoulder, the snow at his shins.

He came up to a gas station. The snow muddled black in the oil and the dirt, mashed to rows under tires moved slow across the lot.

He knocked his feet at the mat and went inside. He bought a can of soda, and cigarettes, and six orange crackers in plastic wrap.

He walked across the lot, to the back of a motel, and settled knees up beside a metal dumpster. He ate the orange crackers, and he drank the dark soda, and it burned his tongue, and it got dark. The air was cold, and he shifted to get warm, stood up and ran in place, pulled his arms tight to his chest. After an hour he went slow to the lobby glass, and checked the desk; there was no one. He lingered and then pushed the doors, and lowered himself slowly at a large chair backed to the front desk. He pulled his legs up on the seat.

He woke in the chair. A tiny man with a hammer stuck in his belt was shaking him on the shoulder. Terry stood and pushed the man back.

Outside the sun was out, and the snow was melting.

He walked back to the car on the interstate. The snow had puddled on the hood. He put the keys in, and the engine turned, and he laughed at the luck. The car held for a half mile, and then a belt popped, sound like a bone split, and the car lurched. He pressed the gas, and the engine revved high, and nothing, the tires a crawl.

He pulled it to the shoulder. He left the keys in the ignition and shut the door. The snow wilted. He yanked the hat down at his eyes.