One Door Open

"Thin air gets the old ones." He slapped her door. "My wife's got chili on. Lock up."

---

"Why's your window open?" Eli asked. "It's 20 below."

"One finger. My dad's rule. He drove this pass for 30 years."

"For fumes? You said they come up through the floor."

"In a car. Trucks breathe out the top. See that pipe in the mirror?"

"The shiny one?"

"The stack. The engine smoke goes up it, by the sleeper, the bunk room behind us. Way over the snow."

"So why the window?"

"Habit. You keep your dad's habits, and he sticks around."

"My nana keeps my grandpa's hat on a hook. She says good night to it."

"There you go."

"Do you do this each night? Sit on top of a hill in a storm?"

"Four more nights. Then a desk. Dispatch, in town."

"Is that good?"

"I tell other people where to drive, and I'm home by six. My girl's 12. Last month she drew me for school, and she drew the truck."

"That's kind of sweet."

"There was no one in it, Eli."

"Oh."

"What's that crackling?"

"CB. Truckers' radio. Six drivers on one hill, it's a party line."

"Line, it's Pat, blue truck at the front," said a woman's voice. "Who's got cards? I'll deal by radio."

"Pat, some of us sleep," a man said.

"That's Lou. He's always asleep, and Pat's always talking."

"Two more winters, Lou," Pat said. "Then I'm in a hot place with a pool and no hills. You can come swim."

"I'll come and sleep next to it. I've got a load due at noon, Pat, and a boss who counts minutes."

At 11, Jo rubbed her eyes. "Wolf Creek headache. I get it up top each time, at 10,857 feet. Thin air."

"I feel kind of sick."

"Same thing. Drink some water."

At midnight Pat came back on, laughing.

"Well, now. Something just knocked on me. One slap, flat, like a hand on a table."

"Let it knock," said Lou.

"Letting it, sugar. It's walking round. It's gone behind my cab."

"Pat? What's it doing?"

"Just standing there, on my back wall. Okay, gone on. Lou, it's yours."

"Let it," Lou said. "I'm asleep."

"Jo," Eli whispered. "Look at the snow. By the lights."

"Footprints."

"Bare feet, big ones, toes spread wide. Those weren't there before."

"Then they're there now."

"They're at the next truck. Now the one in front of us, and Jo, they're coming here."

A flat slap hit the sleeper wall, right behind his head.

He grabbed the cake. Jo grabbed his arm.

"Don't look, and don't answer. Let it knock."

"It's walking down my side. I can hear the snow."

"I know."

"It's gone round the back. What's it doing back there?"

"Standing. In the mirror I see the stack, the smoke and the snow. That's all."

"Gone past me," Pat said at last. "Down to the back end. Night, all."

Eli slid a finger under the cake lid.

"Don't you dare."

"One rose. She won't know."

"She'll know. Nanas count the roses."

He ate it anyway. They laughed, and it hurt her head.

On the hood, in the snow, a foot came down.

"Jo."

"I see it."

"There's another, closer. It's bending the wiper."

The roof boomed twice, right over their heads.

"It's on top of us," Eli breathed. "Now it's going down the back."

"Then it's behind the cab."

"Why does it always go behind the cab?"

"I don't know, Eli."

"Jo. Your window."

"What about it?"

"It's shut. Somebody packed snow in your one finger of gap, from outside, hard and smooth."

"I see it."

"There's a thumb in it. Right in the middle, a thumb."

"I see it, Eli."

"Why would it shut your window?"

"Ask it."

"Open it again."

"I'm not putting my hand out there." Her voice shook. "Door shut, window shut. We're shut."

---

By one o'clock, Eli had been sick twice into a bag.

"Sorry. It's the frosting."

"It's the height."

"Lou?" Pat said on the radio. "It's knocking on me again."

"Pat, you okay?"

Pat's words came long and slow. "Sleepy, sugar. Night."

"Pat, stay up and talk to me. Tell me about the pool."

Pat did not answer.

"Jo. Did we give Nana her cake yet?"

"It's on your lap."

"Oh, good. There's a man on the hood, sitting there."

"There's no one, Eli. There's snow and two dents."

"He's waving at me. He's got my grandpa's hat on."

She rang Gus. He picked up on the sixth ring.

"Gus, Lou's not answering and Pat's gone quiet. The boy's seeing things."

"Thin air, partner. I'm at the bottom, and it's still coming down. Two hours, maybe three."

"Gus, it walked on my hood."

"Then keep your door shut. It's not got in a truck in 26 winters."

"Gus, I'm so tired."

"Then get some sleep, partner. Wait for me."

She went to climb back for a blanket. Her legs folded, and she sat down hard on the bunk.

Thin air gave you a headache. It did not take your legs.

"Eli. The stack's not smoking."

"What?"

"It's got a white cap on. Snow, packed hard in the top, with the heel of a hand in it."

"The man's still on the hood. My head's full of bees, Jo."

"Look at me. It's not after us, Eli, and it never wanted in."

"Then what does it want?"

"Us, in here, with the engine on. It goes behind each cab because that's where the stack is."

"Packing them?"

"All night. Lou's, Pat's, mine. The smoke's got nowhere to go now but in."

"Like my car."

"Like your car." Her throat shut. "I took you out of your car for this."

"You said I won't smell a thing."

"You won't. You get a headache, then sick, then sleepy."

"Then?"

"Warm as toast, engine running, big smile. That's what Gus finds."

"But the rule."

"Gus's rule. Engine on, door shut, let it knock." She reached for the key. "That was its rule all along."

She killed the engine and opened the door.

The cold hit like a bucket of water. On the top step, under her boots, were two bare footprints in the snow. Fresh. Toes to her door.

The step creaked as the weight came off it.

"Jo? Is it there?"

"It was. It's going, slow, toward Pat's truck."

"Is it coming back?"

"It doesn't care about me. I'm out, so I'm no use to it."

"Am I out?"

"You're coming out. Arms up."

She dragged him down into the snow. He gasped and was sick again. Then he breathed in deep, and coughed, and breathed.

"The cake."

"The cake's fine," she lied. "Keep breathing. Say something each minute, so I know."

"Something."

"Good boy."

She grabbed the handheld radio. "Line! It's Jo. Kill your engines and open your doors!"

The radio hissed.

"Your stacks are packed, so it's in your cabs. Lou, wake up!"

"Jo?" said Pat, slow and far away. "Gus said don't open."

"Gus is wrong. Think of the pool, Pat. Open your door."

"Somebody's knocking on me, sugar."

"That's me. That's me knocking."

Jo was at the blue truck, hitting the door with her glove. The window was black, fogged on the inside.

"Lou," Pat said on the radio, soft and pleased. "You hear that, Lou? It sounds just like Jo."

"Pat, I can't get up your step. Please. It is Jo."

"Let it knock," said Pat.

Jo hit the door again.

Right next to her glove, something she could not see hit it too, flat and patient, in time with her.