No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

She didn’t realize Rodent Face had crept closer until he
was standing directly over her left shoulder, still mouthbreathing,
joining the group in frozen attention as the ancient
Sony AM/FM leaked electronic slush from the counter. Under
the feedback noise, she recognized … yes, there it was … the
faintest murmur—
“A voice,” she said. “Someone’s talking.”
“I can’t hear anything—”
“Hang on.” Ed reached through the security grate and
twirled the volume dial, lifting tinny fragments out of the
muck. It sounded like the automated voice, stilted with
inhuman pauses: “—has issued a w-nter st-rm w-rn-ng -
ffecting Backb-ne Pass with bl-zzard conditions and extr-me
prec-pitation. State Route Sev-n is closed to all tr-ffic between
exits f-rty-nine and sixty-eight unt-l f-rther notice—”
Ashley blinked. “Which mile marker are we at?”
Ed raised a finger, clattering the shutters. “Ssh.”
“—Em-rgency and road maint-n-nce crews exp-ct
significant delays of s-x to eight hours due to m-ltiple
collisions and heavy sn-wfall. All mot-rists are adv-sed to st-y
off the roads and r-main indoors until c-nditions impr-ve.”
A long, crackly pause. Then a faint beep.
Everyone waited.
“The n-tional weath-r service has issued a w-nter storm w-
rning affecting Backb-ne Pass …” The broadcast repeated, and
everyone in the room deflated at once. Ed lowered the volume
and huffed.
Silence.
Sandi spoke first. “Six to eight hours?”
Darby’s legs nearly folded under her. She’d been halfstanding,
arched forward to listen, and now she slumped back
into her chair like a ragdoll. The rest of the room processed
this information in hushed voices, swirling around her: