Open wasteland.
Victor shoved the door, leaped out, turned to look—right rear wheel deep in snow crust.
“f**k—why more rush, more s**t…”
Victor cursed, grabbed flashlight from car, bent scan right rear. Tire wedged ridge, hanging—no ground contact.
Ground close look—stood, to trunk, bare hands chain yank twice—spare free. But cold extreme, snow load—spare frozen solid trunk.
No choice—Victor whole body on spare, rock hard.
Creak-creak.
Teeth-grinding sound. Victor face red, rocked N times—spare thud drop. Triangle hook chain-hub instant sliced half thigh—blood gushed on snow.
Victor touched slashed leg—held pain, no delay. Hands push spare under right rear, back in car.
“Amitabha, Virgin Mary, Jesus… mercy—let me go…” Victor urgent mutter, shift gear, light throttle—tire on spare.
