Hundreds of miles from home, on a cold and unfamiliar highway in Virginia, Fred Sansone's body was wedged in a car that was pinned under an 18-wheeler. In indescribable pain and in pitch darkness, Sansone was certain that he and his three friends would not survive.

The 28-year-old didn't know then that he was cramped and bleeding at the core of a massive pile of twisted metal that's been described as one of the worst wrecks in Interstate 81's more than 30-year history.

Fred was the last to be pulled from the wreckage alive. During those horror-filled hours on Jan. 3, Fred endured countless waves of emotion as he tried to piece together the events that had carried him there. He cried and he moaned and he begged for help from rescue workers who were desperate to give him some relief. But it was hours before emergency crews could even hold his hand and give him words of comfort. And he welled over with love for the man who was fighting for his own life beside him, 24-year-old Dean Muklevicz.

Fred listened while Dean and his wife, Jennifer, whimpered their final goodbyes. Fred said goodbye, too, gasping for the words so he could die knowing that the three other people who entered this horrible journey with him knew how much he loved them.

And he did love them.

He thought about the snowball fight they'd had the night before in Radford, where they had stopped on their annual trip to Snowshoe ski resort in West Virginia. He remembered that Dean was eager to get on the road that morning. Fred, Jennifer and their friend, Matt Britt, wanted to sleep longer.

The close-knit group had left Memphis the day before. They said goodbye to the Mukleviczs, a family that was central in Fred's life. Bob and Marilyn Muklevicz had made a special place in their lives for their two sons' closest friend. The group drove for more than 10 hours that Saturday, Jan. 2, through dreary wintry weather.

"It scared Jennifer with him driving on the ice," Fred said. "The whole night before, Jennifer had been in the front seat, just hanging on to the little handle and just on the edge of her seat."

So Fred rode shotgun that Sunday morning and Jennifer grabbed the seat behind Dean, who wanted to drive. They had only a short drive before they could hit the slopes.

But the plan would change and their lives would be forever altered after their Chevy Tahoe glided over the icy Buffalo Creek bridge in Rockbridge County.

"The first thing we saw was the 18-wheeler sideways. It was jackknifed and sliding down the road. It was flying," Fred said. He remembers the next handful of seconds as slow-moving images. "I looked at Dean when we came over the hill, and I was waiting to feel him slow down and pull over. But nothing was happening. I looked at Dean and I said, 'Brakes,' real calm because I didn't want to scare him."

But Dean had already tried the brakes and felt no traction. "I heard Jennifer let out a bit of a whimper." The Tahoe wasn't moving very fast when it slid head-first into the side of the trailer. The airbags didn't even deploy.

"My first thought was 'We can still drive the car.' We were fine. Dean had turned to his right and had asked Jennifer if she was OK," Fred said. "She didn't have a chance to respond."

A second tractor-trailer slammed into their car from behind, wedging the Tahoe under the first truck. "The first thing we started hearing was accidents behind us," Fred said. The 16-vehicle pileup would claim four lives and injure dozens.

Traffic backed up for more than 20 miles and it took 12 hours to open one lane. Both northbound lanes wouldn't reopen for three days. When the sound of crushing metal and objects punching through glass stopped, the pain started.

The four friends found themselves compressed into positions the human body was never meant to twist into. The roof of the vehicle was pressed against Fred's head and chest. Matt was wedged between Fred and Dean. They struggled to draw breath as they assessed their predicament. The large, sport-utility vehicle had been crushed so severely that they were crowded into a space that measured about three feet from floor to ceiling.

"It was like if you put a blanket or pillow in front of my face. It was horrible. The whole time I thought I was going to die of suffocation," Fred said.

Slowly, their strained voices began to fill the grim pocket of space. "Dean told Jennifer that he loved her. It just came as a shock to me when he said that, because it hit me that we weren't going to make it," Fred said. "He told us that he loved us. He told us to tell his family that he loved them. It made me think ... did Dean know he was going to die? I hate to say it, but I don't think he did."

By then, frantic rescue workers were on the scene trying to decide their first move Damon Woody, chief of the volunteer Glasgow Lifesaving and First Aid Crew, was the first to arrive. He remembers the horrific moment that he realized there were two vehicles sandwiched between and underneath the two trucks. "They became an accordion real quick. They went through something that nobody ever really wants to see," he said.

To get to the Tahoe, Woody's crews had to move one truck, a van and two other vehicles. They called the largest crane they could find to the scene. "The trailer that was sitting on top of them was coming apart. I had about 30 to 45 rescue workers in the middle of those two trucks," Woody said. "I had to watch their lives, too. It was a very unsafe scene."

Fred was oblivious to their efforts.

"We were in there, it seemed like for about an hour to two hours, before we knew people were trying to get us out," Fred said. In reality, it took rescue workers about 15 minutes from when they arrived to make verbal contact with Jennifer, the least injured of the four. The process was gut-wrenching for rescue workers because they were helpless to offer the four friends any medication to ease the pain. And more than once they had to leave the vehicle while heavy machinery moved pieces of wreckage.

"You just keep reassuring them that we're doing everything we can to get them out," Woody said. Fred continued to talk to Jennifer and Matt. Occasionally he could hear Dean coughing. Jennifer was keeping rescue workers posted on their conditions. "The last thing she said was, 'Could you check on my husband, because we haven't heard from him in a while.' And it dawned on me that Dean had stopped coughing," Fred said. "There was blood on the floorboard where I guess he was spitting up blood.

"We didn't ask if Dean was OK because we didn't want to know." Crews struggled to cut away crumpled sheets of metal and chunks of plastic to get more oxygen into the Tahoe. "Once they cut the top back, we had light. I looked up into the sky and I saw about a dozen guys looking down at me. As soon as that happened, I knew I was going to be OK."

Jennifer was pulled out and then Matt. Only Fred and Dean remained. "I think everybody was excited. We all started yelling. But I didn't hear Dean," Fred said. "And then I saw Dean."

That's when a fresh, stinging pain began. Fred realized he would return to Memphis - and Dean's family - without Dean. Fred and a young widow would go home to share a new, unspeakable emptiness.

Fred was forced to look at Dean's lifeless body for about a half an hour while rescue workers pulled away the metal that had been cutting off circulation to his left leg. "He was just bent over, and they weren't doing anything to help him." Eventually, Fred asked them to cover his friend.

His thoughts then focused on Jennifer because, "Nobody was there with her." "Dean and Jennifer did everything together. I guess, when I think of the kind of marriage that I would love to be in, it would be the kind that he and Jennifer had."

His mind rushed back to a familiar and comforting scene - a favorite fishing spot they frequented with Dean's brother, Darren. "We were together all the time," he said. "I think our goal in life was to retire and have a cabin on a river and go fishing every morning."

Fred had known the Muklevicz family since he and Darren were sophomores in high school. Fred was a groomsman in both of their weddings. "We clicked on a level that was just ... unreal," he said. When rescue workers finally removed Fred, he was in shock and slipping in and out of consciousness.

"He was in pain, and he was more concerned with his other friends than he was for himself," said Pam Hall, a Buena Vista rescue paramedic who helped carry Fred to a helicopter. "He was definitely frightened, and I don't think it had really hit him."

The next two days are missing from Fred's memory. In critical condition, he was placed in the University of Virginia Medical Center's intensive care unit. His condition slowly improved, and surgeons cut a 14-inch-long incision into his left leg to improve its circulation.

He and Matt were released four days after the accident and flew home to Memphis with their mothers, who had caught the first flight they could book into Charlottesville. Jennifer, who had minor injuries, went home the morning after the accident.

"There were 30 to 40 people waiting in Memphis to welcome us," Fred said. "Dean's family was there. That was probably the most crying I've done since." Marilyn and Bob Muklevicz made the somber trip to the airport because Fred was like a third son to the close family. Even as they planned Dean's funeral, they pulled Fred into their arms and thanked God that he, too, hadn't returned in a coffin.

"We'd give anything to have Dean back, but we wouldn't trade one of them," Bob Muklevicz said. He's thankful that Fred was with Dean as he died. "They're real close, and I'm glad that Dean wasn't alone."

Now the Muklevicz family turns to Fred to help explain the circumstances surrounding his death. "It's one of the pieces of the puzzle. I guess I'm just trying to find the pieces. I keep going over the accident," Bob Muklevicz said. He asks Fred if he saw any evidence that Dean died of skull and neck fractures, as the medical examiner reported.
Why did the doctor's death report show that Dean died instantly?
What were his other injuries? The report's body diagrams that were supposed to show contusions and fractures were left blank.
Why didn't state police place warning signs along I-81 after two earlier accidents caused by the icy bridge?

Fred struggles to answer their questions while he battles his feelings of guilt and sadness. The mixed feelings are mutual. As much as the Mukleviczs love him, Fred will always be a reminder of their son's painful death.

And Fred is trapped all over again.
Waiting for his leg to heal, Fred is unable to return to his job as a UPS manager. Matt is recovering from similar leg injuries. Marilyn Muklevicz said Jennifer has declined to be interviewed because she's not yet comfortable talking about the ordeal. Fred spends most of his time alone, shoving away images of the wreck that splash into his mind without warning.

"I still can't sleep. Early on, I was having nightmares ... but now it's because of the pain," he said. He has his own lingering questions, and he recently turned to Lexington-area rescue workers for answers.

"There were things I didn't know that I wanted to know," Fred said. Like the Mukleviczs, Fred wants to know how long Dean was alive after impact. Did he suffer? In his quiet, Fred also recalls better times when Dean was alive. Everyone says the same thing about Dean. You couldn't be around him and not have a good time. Fred remembers the fishing trip they took the weekend before Dean's wedding.

"Rather than go out to bars, he wanted to go fishing," Fred recalled with a chuckle. "We went to Spring River and the two of us spent the whole weekend fishing.

"They listened to tapes of Louis L'Amour novels in the car on the way there and back. "The old language and the country accents were just hilarious to listen to. We were just dying laughing about it. It was just one of those weekends," he said.

Marilyn Muklevicz would rather talk about those times. She hasn't read newspaper reports of the wreck and won't look at photos of the crushed vehicle Dean died in Fred's presence brings her both comfort and anguish. "It's hard to look at them and see how well they're doing. It's hard to understand how Dean didn't come away from that."