The snow blew sideways across the road. This was a stretch of highway they’d researched for wind farms, but found that it was too windy. I knew there were mountains to the west, and even though it was ten o’clock in the morning, the world was a gray twilight. I could see the road if I squinted and had my brights on, and I wished for taillights ahead of me to guide the way. I saw two trucks, overturned in the median, lights shining through the fat flakes. I drove on.

After ten minutes and two miles, another wreck in the median: a pickup hauling a travel trailer. The cab of the truck was slightly smashed upside down. The sliding tracks were fresh. I could see two people inside, their hands below them, pressed against the roof.

I pulled over and put my hazards on. I hesitated. Do I leave my three year old in the back of my car while I help the people in the pickup? What if some driver behind me keys in on my hazards and thinks he needs to follow them through the haze like a beacon, and instead he smashes into my baby while I’m pulling a stranger out of a truck?

I dial 911 and continue on. Just another primal justification for doing nothing, taking no action, when I might have been able to save the people in the pickup.