The road rolls away under Mother's wheels, slush spraying against her undercarriage. Casey can hear it, a faint tss tss tss sound under the roar of the GTO's bitch engine. The sky is pale gray, its light lying over the white landscape like a soft whisper of a blanket. He chews his lip a little, hoping the air will stay clear. It isn't supposed to snow again until Monday, but you never know...
Part 28 of High Contrast.