Chapter 8: The High Pass
The old F-250 climbed the winding mountain road, its heavy tires chewing through the slush and melting snow of Allison Pass. The elevation was climbing rapidly, the evergreen trees giving way to stunted alpine firs and jagged granite cliffs that dropped off steeply into misty ravines. Inside the cab, the heater rattled loudly, blowing lukewarm air against the windshield, but it was enough to keep the frost at bay.
Maya sat in the middle of the front bench seat between Mateo and the door, her small boots dangling a few inches above the rubber floor mat. She was tracing patterns in the condensation on the passenger window with her index finger, drawing little rabbits and stars.
""Are we in Canada yet?"" she asked softly, without turning away from the window.
""Not yet, sweetheart,"" Mateo replied, his eyes locked on the treacherous, winding road ahead. ""We're almost at the top. Once we cross the ridge, it's all downhill into British Columbia.""
Suddenly, the truck’s engine sputtered. A sharp, rhythmic metallic pinging sound echoed from beneath the floorboards, followed by a sudden loss of acceleration. Mateo pressed down on the gas pedal, but the RPMs dropped instantly.
""Damn it,"" Mateo muttered, shifting down a gear.
""Is the truck tired?"" Maya asked, looking up at him with unblinking dark eyes.
""Just a little winded,"" Mateo said, trying to keep his voice steady.
The transmission gasket Hector had patched together had blown out under the strain of the steep grade. Thick white smoke began to billow from under the hood, creeping up past the wipers and obscuring the view of the road ahead. Mateo coaxed the dying truck around one final hairpin turn before pulling onto a wide gravel turnout overlooking a deep, snow-filled valley. He killed the engine before the block could completely seize up.
Silence descended instantly, save for the hissing of the overheating radiator. Mateo hopped out of the cab, popping the hood to release a billow of acrid steam. The alternator belt was shredded, and transmission fluid was leaking in a steady, dark puddle onto the snow. They were stranded ten miles short of the border, at four thousand feet of elevation, with a storm front visibly rolling over the peaks above them.
Maya climbed out of the passenger side, her yellow dress standing out in sharp, vibrant contrast against the bleak gray and white landscape of the mountain pass. She clutched her stuffed rabbit tightly, walking over to stand beside him.
""Can we walk?"" she asked simply.
May you like
Mateo looked down at her, a knot tightening in his stomach. Ten miles through deep snow, in freezing temperatures, with no winter coats—just her light dress and his button-down shirt and suit jacket. It was an impossible journey.
""We can walk,"" Mateo said, his voice hard with resolve as he stripped off his dark suit jacket and wrapped it carefully around her shoulders like a blanket. It swallowed her whole, the sleeves hanging down past her hands, but it trapped her body heat. ""And we will. Put your hood up, Maya. We're going for a hike.""
