"3:05:45" by Jennifer Reichow — Our September 2021 Silver Medal Winner

Jennifer is our second place winner from the contest posted in our September 2021 issue!

What the judges had to say:

“Taking a prompt and turning it into such a believable, tense, wholly satisfying tale, is no easy feat; but this author does the trick. This story was constructed with excellent pace, creativity, imagery, and imagination. It does what image prompts should do: transports us to a brief, exhilarating moment in time. ”

“Descriptions were vivid and enabled the reader to visualize and feel the fog as the main character did. ”

“The suspense built until the very last line! A unique way of using fog as the backdrop in front of which this story can unfold. ”

“This is a perfect suspense story. From the visceral start to the surprise ending it keeps us as tense as the protagonist and praying we make it out of the fog. Great use of the setting, time and place to evolve a scene with loads of dramatic tension. ”

Meet Jennifer

Jennifer Reichow grew up in a home overflowing with classic 1960s and 70s pulp fiction novels that inspired her love of reading. As a child, she knew she would go to university and be a writer, but as so often happens, life had other plans. It’s only after careers in retail and nursing Jennifer is realizing her dream of becoming a writer. It feels like coming home. Jennifer’s first writing contest earned her a finalist spot in the Writer’s Federation of Nova Scotia Postcard Story Contest 2020. Her current work in progress is a YA mystery thriller novel.

3:05:45

the unedited story by Jennnifer Reichow

The car ahead disappeared into the fog bank like it never existed. Sweat beaded Dave’s upper lip and his sphincter clenched. If he wasn’t working, he’d have turned around and gone home. Or if this was any other job, he’d turn around and drive hundreds of miles out of his way to avoid fog. He forced back a whimper. They knew he suffered from homiclophobia. He told them in the job interview about his fear of fog. Thankfully, they hired him anyway. Dave needed this job. His family depended on him. He’d do whatever it took to keep this job, include driving through a fog so thick the headlights showed nothing but a wall of mist.

They’d test him, the other drivers warned him. Make sure he had what it took for a high pressure government job. All he had to do was drive. The catch? Follow the exact directions on the high tech GPS monitor mounted on the dashboard. Be at the exact right spot at the exact right second. The only other demand was easier. No talking. Pretend the car is empty.

The passengers of his first job made that an easy rule to follow. Three hard-faced men glared at him from the moment he opened the car door and had since maintained a hostile silence. They hadn’t spoken to him or each other for the past three hours.

Before the fog, he’d wondered where the hell they were going. He’d driven through the mountains along narrow and twisty roads. With dark coming on fast, what was the plan when the countdown hit zero? Not his problem. They paid him to drive, not to think.

Now, deep in the fog, anxiety wiped out any concerns for the passengers. Four minutes left, then he’d have to pull over. The countdown would hit zero and he’d have new instructions on the monitor. Pull over where on this narrow mountain road? Bile burned the back of his throat.

“Hey douche bag. Driver. I gotta take a leak.”

Dave’s hands jerked on the wheel. The car wobbled, but he didn’t slow down or stop. It wasn’t time yet.

“Idiot! Ya gonna kill us!”

Dave glanced rapidly at the monitor. Forty-five seconds to go.

He edged the car over, sighing with relief when he heard the crunch of gravel under the tires. The shoulder must widened just here. Dave blessed whoever had so precisely laid the route and time in the GPS. The car rolled to a stop just as the countdown hit zero.

Dave turned the ignition off and wiped sweaty hands on his pants. The monitor chimed and reset itself for a twenty-minute countdown. No new route popped up on the GPS, so he guessed he should stay put. He leaned forward and rested his head on the steering wheel. Closing his eyes, he focused on the meditation his therapist taught him. Please let the next route be back down the mountain. Anything to get out of this fog. Please, please.

He felt a brush of cold air sweep the car, followed by slamming doors. He looked up. The passenger door was open. Dave gazed in the rear-view mirror at the empty backseat. Where did they go?

Tendrils of fog drifted in through the open door. Dave lunged across the middle console and into the passenger seat. He yanked the door shut. Rubbing his temples, he rocked back and forth in the seat, humming a mantra. This is a test, this is a test, this is only a test.

Closing the door hadn’t checked the fog from creeping in. Even now it oozed into his pores, cold and clammy. He felt it. Dave started the car and turned on the heat. Eight minutes to go.

Dave concentrated on calming his body inch by inch using visualization techniques to take him to his happy place… sitting poolside with his wife and kids. His bladder twinged, thinking about the water.

Wait. Didn’t someone say they had to take a leak? How long did it take?

He thumped the car horn. Shave and a haircut, two bits.

Nothing happened. If anyone was out there, they would have come back to the car.

He rolled the window down a few inches.

“Hello?” He drew deep breaths to slow his galloping heart, but only inhaled fog. Dave coughed violently to expel it from his lungs. He jabbed the window switch and blasted the heat.

No, he’d been alone in the car. No one would wander off in this fog. Of course not. Most men would have taken a piss on the tire, not taken a stroll into the night. This was a test. They wouldn’t send passengers with him into the fog. No doubt the high tech GPS monitored everything in the car anyway. Right. Only a minute to go now.

He settled himself back into the driver’s seat and fastened his seatbelt just as the monitor hit zero and reset itself to 3 hours, 5 minutes and 45 seconds. The return route took him straight back the way he’d come. A tear dribbled down Dave’s face. He’d be out of the fog in minutes.

The next day, waiting by the cars, the other drivers laughed and said he got off easy. Dave laughed too, not that he saw anything funny. Look at the news report this morning—three men lost in the fog and found dead at the bottom of a ravine. Fog was no laughing matter.

“What about your passengers?” another driver asked. A hush fell.

“What passengers? The car was empty,” Dave said.

The supervisor, passing out the day’s work, overheard the exchange.

“That’s right,” he said. The chatter and laughter resumed as the drivers moved off to their cars.

He shook hands with Dave. “Welcome to the Disposition Unit of the Witness Protection Program.”

“Where the car is always empty,” someone muttered.

Dave only nodded, satisfied he faced his fear and passed the test.

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