The road was clear and that's about as positive as they could be in their current circumstances. Snow fell like a waterfall of white on either side and a thousand voices called out to them, begging them to let go and drift away into the blissful nothingness with them.
These voices were ignored, the driver had been gripping the steering wheel so tightly he felt like his hands would stay clenched for the rest of his life. The sides of his fingers were already the same shade of gray as the wheel and he knew his feet, legs and back were all slowly sinking into the car. He would be the driver now and forever if they weren't able to find shelter from the storm and all the curses it had been sending to steal their warmth and lives.
According to the dashboard's clock they'd been driving in the unending snow and unchanging sky for nine days. None of them had felt even the slightest pangs of hunger or thirst and the tank hadn't decreased. They tried not to think about what heated liquid was now fueling the car and how pale the driver was becoming.
Somewhere around day fourteen the storm stopped following them, the skies cleared and a kaleidoscope of colours flooded their exhausted eyes as the road finally began to curve towards civilisation. The passengers discussed their next move in excited whispers while the driver continued to stare at the road ahead, smiling serenely as the last patch of his skin faded to grey and his eyes clouded over.
He would take them wherever they needed to go, wherever the storm couldn't find them.
They were his passengers.
He was their driver.
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