All The Lights In Riverport

The holiday gridlock on Interstate 80 was a crawling serpent of red taillights and exhaust fumes, stretching for miles into the freezing dusk. Everyone was desperate to get home for Christmas Eve.

I was thirty miles outside Riverport, creeping along in the right lane, when an engine diagnostic light flickered amber across my dashboard. With the traffic snarled to an absolute halt, I signaled and eased the car over onto the paved shoulder to inspect the sensor. In normal circumstances, the shoulder was strictly reserved for highway patrol, emergency response, and breakdowns.