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The gentle omnipresent rhythm of the road beneath the tires seemed of a piece with the night itself. Low and dark; as oddly comforting as it was vast and lonely; and nearly eternal—broken only by the occasional lane change or brief collision with a rumble strip in the case of the former, and by the illuminated signs and roadside lights which cut through the latter, seeming to hang at odd angles halfway to the pitch-dark sky. There had been no roads like this on Gongen. The highways of America, on this parallel Earth in a distant past, were a much vaster and stranger network than any streets Jhe Sang Mi had ever travelled back home. Liminal. Liminal and lonely, especially after nightfall. There was a sense of total isolation out here, traversing the endless miles between destinations, one which was only intensified by the occasional reminders of human existence—the brief flicker of headlights from a passing car, the burning orange-on-black notice signs looming from the roadside, the occasional oasis of light stretched around a gas station or convenience store. Reminders which only served to bring the emptiness into starker relief. It was somehow hard to imagine the architects of any of these signs and signals as fellow people. They were simply a distant and unnerving presence, casting messages out into the eerie silence—like strange shapes passing beneath dark waters, or a fisherman’s lure dropping in from somewhere distant. Sang Mi sighed, leaning her head up against the closed passenger-side window and letting the gentle vibrations and the meaningless smear of roadside lights draw her mind from such gloomy thoughts. A dark highway past midnight was no time or place for deep thinking, especially not for someone who’d spent the evening reading all the best and scariest of this Earth’s urban legends and creepypastas on the ancient mini-tablet device which Cwej had purchased. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. They had been encountering a lot of that sort of thing lately. It was good to be prepared. She glanced at Cwej, who was staring straight ahead through the front window, making occasional adjustments to the wheel. She wanted to speak to him to relieve some of the loneliness of the dark highway—but it was strangely difficult, at night, in a place like this. The easy chatter which filled their daylight adventures seemed to dissipate at this hour, replaced with a soft and vaguely stifling veil which was nearly impossible to penetrate. It felt wrong to try to talk, this late at night. Their mutual state of awakeness was merely a practical necessity brought about by the strange realm that was the highway, one which it seemed somehow rude to acknowledge. It was odd, she supposed, that the night should seem so lonely with her friend by her side. But the melancholy feeling was there nonetheless. A road, after all, was nothing more than an extension of its inevitable end. Every further mile that they travelled, the pressing awareness that their travels would soon be over weighed ever more heavily on Sang Mi’s mind. There was something comforting about travelling with Cwej. They understood each other, in a way that was unique among her friendships. There were parts of herself, and of her life, that Sang Mi didn’t like, and she suspected that the same was true of Cwej. But when they were with each other— things seemed more balanced, somehow. More manageable. More able to be overcome. But the fundamental truth of their time together was that it couldn’t last forever. They were from different worlds, she and Cwej—different universes and times altogether, but also different lives. At the end of the day, she still had school, and friends, and things which she simply couldn’t put on hold forever to travel the multiverse. Not to mention an uncertain future to face after that, the same which faced all of Gongen. And Cwej—Cwej had responsibilities which she still didn’t fully understand, to Superiors whose identities she still couldn’t quite grasp. Massive responsibilities, cosmic responsibilities - responsibilities which this final road trip could only delay for so long. Soon, very soon, their time together would end. And while that was a truth which Sang Mi had assured herself she could face, it wasn’t a truth which she could face at two in the morning on the loneliest highway in the world. Not without letting that eerie melancholy feeling creep in. The car jolted lightly as Cwej changed lanes, snapping Sang Mi once more from her silent ruminations. It was getting hot in the rubberized interior of this awful orange cube, she realized. She cracked the window, letting a fast-rushing burst of cool air hit her face, bringing with it the smell of gasoline and distant fried food and, somewhere beneath it all, the fresh scent of a summer night. She sighed. It reminded her of nostalgic nights on Gongen, time spent with dear friends. But just now, the thought of being back on Gongen was a sad one. It was an odd feeling, to think of her life and her friends that way. But it was difficult to avoid. The glowing orange sign ahead read ‘Slow Down. Sharp Turn Approaching.’ Cwej leaned smoothly into the curve, then reached to turn on the radio. In the few seconds before the sign vanished from view, Sang Mi glanced back at it and read the words ‘Fueling Up Ahead. Don’t Want to Show Up at Simone’s on Empty. I’m Not Staying.’ Then it was lost in the darkness behind them. But those signs didn’t change. And what kind of message was that, anyway? Static flared on the radio for a moment, snatches of random stations coming through. Cwej cursed lightly. The primitive device was never able to pick up a signal this far out—Sang Mi had realized that by now. They’d picked up a few CDs at a second-hand store called Sullivan’s Curios, but those were still wrapped up in a bag in the back, alongside the projector which they still had yet to deliver. Sang Mi sat back in her seat, intending to let the rumble of the tires lull her to sleep. The radio static suddenly pared into sharpness, the notes of a twentieth-century synth-pop song dancing forth into the night. She glanced at Cwej, hoping that the familiarity of their now-usual routine would break the awkward silence. He hesitated for a moment, listening, then shook his head. “Nope,” he said in Korean, his voice husky with tiredness. “Too old. Space Age music all sounds the same to me.” Sang Mi nodded, biting her lip as she listened to the song herself, trying to remember. She’d taken a class on twentieth-century popular media at Academy 27, and several of her friends were, as she’d have happily teased them, notorious nerds who had assailed her with music of approximately this vintage countless times. But in her case, their little contest had the added complication that any given song which might play on the radio station of this past era might simply not ever have existed at all in her universe. After a few more seconds, she had it. They’d definitely covered this one during the Anglo- American unit, and it helped that the English title was right there in the lyrics. “‘Always Something There to Remind Me’,” she proudly announced. “By…” She faltered. “I don’t know,” she admitted, scrambling for vaguely-remembered names. “…Duran Duran? Måneskin? Punchdown Krone?” “The Naked Eyes!” Cwej exclaimed, snapping his fingers triumphantly. “I remember that one now!” Sang Mi crossed her arms playfully. Cwej might have hailed from even further ahead of this era than she did, but he had the advantage of regular time travel under his belt, and she didn’t. She didn’t. She wasn’t part of that world. And it was going to have to carry on without her, soon enough. Feeling the melancholy tendrils creeping around her again, Sang Mi leaned back in her seat. The chorus of the song blared on as she finally let the rumble of the road carry her off to sleep. * * * Careful to keep glancing back at the road ahead, Cara lifted the worn old cassette from the centre console compartment and popped it into the tape deck, pressing play. She needed music right now. And ‘Always Something There to Remind Me’ seemed fitting. Happy that she’d rewound after the last time she’d listened to it—it was easy to remember when she only ever wanted to listen to the first song on the tape anyway—she let the music wash through the car as she turned onto a sudden dirt pathway and began the bumpy crawl towards the second-hand store which she’d discovered the day before. Simone had always made fun of her for her intensely mainstream taste in music—she was more of the Bikini Kill and Team Dresch persuasion of cutting-edge punk rock, while Cara couldn’t stand the stuff—but honestly, she’d never minded. It was hard for her to mind anything that Simone did. But there was no point in thinking about that. That was in the past. Almost. It would be, soon enough. After she’d taken care of this one last thing. Pulling the car to a stop by the side of the path as the clanging synths of the song chimed, she pushed the door open and hopped down onto the gravel which lined the drive. The tiny shop— Sullivan’s Curios—was almost a mile from her parents’ town, and she wanted to be on the highway before sundown—but she hadn’t had her wallet with her when she’d taken a nostalgic last look around yesterday afternoon, and there was something in the shop that she needed. She only hoped it hadn’t sold. But given how empty the place had been both times she’d seen it, that didn’t seem like much of a possibility. The ring of the bell as she pushed the door open alerted the shopkeeper, a cranky man in his mid-forties who’d refused to set anything aside for her, even when she’d promised to be back the next day. He frowned irritatedly, then returned to his paper. Cara nodded briskly back, then made directly for the shelves in the far corner. It was still there. Relieved, Cara hefted the heavy wooden deer from its place near the top, leaving its matching double behind. She ran a finger along the dust-encrusted details; the careful lines of its muzzle and hooves. The adhesive sticker on the underside declared a price of thirty dollars, which was steep—but worth it, she thought. Fastening her grip around the middle of the sculpture, she lugged it back to the counter and placed it in front of the shopkeeper, wincing slightly at the fortunately-unwarranted thought that it might shatter the glass surface, then fished the money out of her wallet. “This is a real classic piece,” the man said as he counted the money, as if vaguely suspicious that Cara was not the right buyer for such an item. “There’s a matching one, you know. I’d really have preferred to sell them as a set…” “I can’t afford both,” Cara replied. “Is that a problem?” The man hesitated for a moment. “I suppose not…” the man replied, frowning as he wrapped the deer in newspaper. “But take care of it, will ya?” She nodded, looking out through the transom window. The light was waning. It was time to go. Back outside, she set the deer gingerly on the gravel, then popped the trunk. There was still a little space left next to all of her earthly possessions. She slid the deer in, newspaper and all, and pushed the lid shut. Back in the front seat, she started the tape playing again, and put the car into drive, turning back onto the dirt path and starting for the main road. The highway beckoned. She shuffled her hand around in the cup holder—enough change there to handle the upcoming toll booths. With any luck, she’d be at her new apartment by Thursday. Just one small detour to make first… * * * Sang Mi woke up, feeling an ache all down her back. That was the problem with sleeping while on the road, she thought—it wasn’t nearly as comfortable as a motel, not that those were the height of luxury either. But they’d planned to drive this night through and only stop for a rest come the next afternoon, a plan which had seemed entirely sensible in the cheerful light of morning. She peered through the front window. Cwej had slowed the car to turn into a gas station, which was probably what had jolted her from her uneasy slumber. The lot was eerily empty. They pulled up between two pumps, and Chris leaned out the window, squinting at the prices. Rubbing her eyes, Sang Mi turned up the radio, hoping that they were now close enough to inhabited civilisation to have a choice of channels. There was a brief burst of static, and then it resolved into the distinctive opening notes of ‘Always Something There to Remind Me’. “This again?” she asked. Cwej glanced over. “Yeah, still static,” he answered. “Sorry.” He pushed open the driver’s-side door, then stepped out. “I won’t be long,” he continued, before pushing the door shut again. Sang Mi frowned—what had he meant by ‘still static’? Still mildly unnerved by her earlier reading, she turned the radio off again, then glanced out the window. Cwej waved to her from the pump as he began filling up the tank. She waved back, then sat back in her seat, gazing out into the darkness. It was eerily black beyond the great overhead lights of the gas station—a silent wilderness, in which anything at all might lurk. One keenly felt the sense that this was an outpost in the wasteland; a fragile oasis surrounded by vast and unknowable things. Sang Mi shook her head, resolving not to read any more scary stories for the duration of the trip. Probably best to try to sleep again, she thought, uncomfortable as it was. She settled in her seat and stretched her legs into the space beneath the dashboard, gazing vaguely through the window towards the starless ink of the sky above and listening to the soft clunk of the fuel nozzle in the gas tank. She let her eyes flicker from the lightly-glowing dials behind the wheel to the blinking radio clock to the rearview mirror above the window, in which she could see the row of gas pumps stretching out into the darkness behind the car. Something tingled oddly in her peripheral vision as she stared through the reflected back-window. She sat up again. Her heart beating faster, though she didn’t yet know why, Sang Mi shifted her gaze to the reflected forms of the backseat headrests which loomed behind her. There was something else in front of the one directly at her back, another form, partially obscuring her view. Someone. “Cwej!” she called, whipping fearfully around to look in the backseat. “There’s—” There was no one there. She turned back to look in the rearview mirror again, and saw only empty seats. Cwej pulled open the door, looking concerned. “What is it?” he asked. “Are you alright?” Sang Mi looked in the backseat again, still seeing nothing out of the ordinary. “There was someone in the car,” she said. “In the mirror, anyway. Behind me, in the back seat.” “Damn it,” Cwej replied. “Was it another… thing? Another one of these things?” “Creepypastas,” Sang Mi put in, nodding. “I’m not calling them that,” Cwej said. Stepping out, he took the fuel pump out of the car and got back in, then glanced in the mirror himself. “After your time?” Sang Mi asked. “Before,” he groaned. “You sound like a period novel.” Sang Mi crossed her arms. “It had a comeback,” she said. “Part of my gen’s slang.” “And my grandma’s gen’s,” Cwej replied. “So… are we haunted, then?” Sang Mi watched the mirror for a moment more. “No, maybe not,” she replied. “I’m really tired. I think I might have just imagined it. But I’ll let you know if there’s anything else.” Cwej nodded. “Well, get some rest,” he said. “We still have a ways to go.” That was good, Sang Mi thought, as she settled back in her seat. That was very good. When next she awoke, there was a line of unmanned toll booths stretching across several lanes ahead, lights flashing and gates down. A white-on-green sign proclaimed that the cost was $1.90, and also instructed passengers to have their money ready, an instruction which Cwej was rapidly attempting to obey as he fumbled in his wallet for the required change. “They really charge people to use the roads?” Sang Mi asked drowsily. “I knew Earth was capitalist, but this is ridiculous.” “I just can’t believe it isn’t all electronic yet,” Cwej mumbled back. “These must be the last vestiges.” The car approached the toll booth, and Cwej rolled his window down to put the money into the tray. A few moments passed in silence, the gate not raising—then the booth speaker crackled on. “Sorry for the delay,” came a pre-recorded voice in overly-cheerful tones. “Please wait.” Then there was silence again. “Now what?” Sang Mi asked. Cwej shrugged. “Hope it opens, I suppose?” he said, with a touch of weariness in his voice. He patted the wheel. “That or I’ll drive on through the gate and see what happens.” Sang Mi laughed. Outside the window, the toll booth speaker crackled on again, and Sang Mi strained to listen. But it wasn’t the pre-recorded voice this time. It was a woman’s voice, faded and fragmented—hard to make out. “Can’t stay too long,” Sang Mi heard the voice mutter. “But I need to deliver it.” “What?” she said aloud, unsure whether she was speaking to the voice or to Cwej. “It’s important,” the static-choked voice murmured. “We won’t see each other again. I can’t let her forget me.” The speaker fell silent. “Did you say something?” Cwej asked, looking up from the awful book of jokes which he’d bought at Sullivan’s Curios. He had been reading to pass the time whenever they had nothing to do. “I was just wondering what the heck the speaker was saying.” She frowned. “…You did hear it, right?” “After the first time, you mean?” Cwej asked, looking mildly concerned. “No, I didn’t hear anything else. Did you?” The speaker crackled again. “Going to turn off at the convenience store a few miles from here,” came the voice. “Then straight on till morning. Can’t let her forget.” There was a pause. “Please help me,” said the voice. “Our time is ending. Don’t let her forget.” “Sang Mi?” Cwej repeated, concerned. Sang Mi was silent for a moment, thinking. Something in the strange voice’s plea had struck a chord for her. Whatever it was, it sounded like it really did need help. “Yeah, I did,” Sang Mi finally replied. “There was a voice. Talking to me, asking for help.” “Uh oh,” Cwej said wearily. “That doesn’t sound like the best of news.” “No, I know,” Sang Mi said. “But it sounded… genuine. Is there a convenience store up ahead?” Cwej unfolded his map. “Yes,” he replied. “A few miles on. Why?” Sang Mi hesitated for a moment. “I think we should stop there. That’s what the voice was saying, and I kind of want to check it out.” “Are you sure?” Cwej asked. “We could have an anglerfish situation on our hands.” Sang Mi nodded. “I know,” she said. “But we can handle that, right?” Cwej grinned. “Oh, yes,” he laughed. “Together, I’m sure we could.” Outside, the speaker crackled on again. Sang Mi listened for the voice—but it was the automated message, instead. “All set!” it chimed. “Please move up.” The gate lifted, and Cwej put the car into drive, picking up speed as he left the toll booth behind. Yes, Sang Mi thought, staring ahead—together, they probably could. Together, they could probably do anything. But their time was ending. She sighed, then turned up the radio to hear the sounds of ‘Always Something There to Remind Me’. * * * Cara stepped through the automatic doors of the convenience store, nodding to the tired-looking young woman at the counter. She needed the bathroom, and a map. The first of her tasks completed, she crumpled up the paper seat cover (you couldn’t be too careful) and began to wash her hands at the only sink in the tiny convenience store restroom. Staring blankly at her own reflection in the mirror beneath the harsh unnatural lighting, Cara felt her thoughts drifting inexorably back towards Simone. Both a longing for the past, and a mild dread of the future. Those days weren’t behind her yet—she was still going to see Simone, one more time. And the thought that the end of the most important relationship of her life was still approaching even as it was long over made her feel mildly nauseated. Maybe it would be better if that end never arrived, she thought. Maybe it would be better to travel the final road forever, and never quite reach its finish. Delay the journey’s end into eternity, and always remain in the moment before the close. She splashed water in her face, then stepped back into the convenience store proper. She put a quarter into an arcade machine called Blox Stacker and quickly lost, then took a map from the rack and brought it to the counter. The clerk took her money with one hand, sipping boredly at a cherry cola held in the other. Cara glanced down at the row of newspapers beneath the counter. At Fifth Avenue Parade, Thousands Celebrate Gay Pride, proclaimed the New York Times, halfway down the page beneath a headline announcing the death of Warren Burger. She looked away, busying herself with the map. A shelf of tacky souvenirs caught her eye, and she sidled aimlessly over to it. Cheap keychains and bumper stickers. Items meant to be introduced into a journey solely for the purpose of serving as eventual mementoes of it. Premature earthly remnants of something which was not yet quite over. To buy a souvenir was to declare the present moment past before you could even see the end of it. But then, you could always see the end of a road. It was all around you, down the whole length of it. Souvenirs made sense, Cara supposed. Things always ended, no matter how great they were, and then they faded away. And when they ceased to be present, they were inevitably forgotten. Unless you preserved the remnants—encased them in a little plastic trinket, a totem of the past, which could spark the last little flecks of memory. Of course, it didn’t have to be plastic. And, she thought ruefully, it didn’t have to be cheap. Tucking the map into her pocket, she headed back towards the doors. She had a deer to deliver. * * * “Don’t mix all of those flavors,” Cwej said. “Why not?” Sang Mi asked, as she ran her hand along the row of dispensing levers on the convenience store slushie machine, depositing a pump of each into her plastic cup. “It won’t taste good,” Cwej replied, shaking his head, as Sang Mi popped the cap on and put in the straw. “So… this toll booth voice. What was it saying?” “She said she needed help delivering something,” she said. “Because… because she was afraid that she was going to be forgotten. And she said she was going to this convenience store.” She took a sip of her slushie, then cringed at the taste. “It just sounded like she really needed help,” she continued. “Even if she was a demon or something. So… I don’t know. I’m going to take a look around.” Cwej nodded. “Alright,” he said. “Be careful. And don’t wander off. I need the toilet.” Now alone but for the clerk, Sang Mi cast her gaze around the store. The speakers were playing ‘Always Something There to Remind Me’, faintly. Nothing much out of the ordinary—except for one thing which caught her eye: a battered old arcade machine with the words ‘Blox Stacker’ painted at the top. The screen was flashing and flickering strangely. She drew closer. The falling blocks of pixels had formed themselves into rows, and were gnashing like teeth. Sang Mi fished a quarter from her pocket and put it into the machine, and the blocks vanished—replaced by words. HELP ME, they read. I NEED HELP. “Who are you?” Sang Mi asked, leaning closer. I NEED HELP, the pixels spelled. OUR TIME IS ENDING. BUT I WANT HER TO REMEMBER ME. “I understand,” Sang Mi said. “But you have to tell me more.” SIMONE, read the screen. SHE NEEDS TO HAVE THIS. The words split apart, and the pixels reformed themselves into the image of a deer. Sang Mi’s eyes widened. I’m CHECKING INTO THREADS BUDGET MOTEL, said the pixels. AND THEN ON TO HER HOUSE. BUT I NEED H E L P… An address flashed on the screen. Then the screen flashed, and went out. “Everything alright?” Cwej asked, appearing behind Sang Mi. She jumped, then nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I think so. But we need to go to the Threads Budget Motel.” Cwej frowned. “But we have a reservation at-” “I know,” she interrupted. “But I think it’s important.” She strode towards the doors, then paused and turned to the clerk. “Do you know where Threads Budget Motel is?” she asked. The clerk frowned. “Just a few exits from here, I think,” she replied. “I haven’t heard anyone mention that place in ages.” Sang Mi thanked her, put her unappealing brown slushie into the trash, then turned to walk through the doors. As she did, she caught a strange sight reflected in the glass—a woman whom she didn’t recognize, blurred and distant. Sang Mi nodded to her, then stepped through the doors, Cwej following closely behind. * * * Walking through the fog of chlorine which clung to the carpeting outside the room housing the shabby motel pool, Cara approached the front desk of the Threads Budget Motel. The desk clerk was typing on a bulky beige IBM, working beneath the crackling flicker of a sparking ceiling light on a cheap countertop which had seen better days. “Check in?” she asked. “Yes,” Cara replied, handing over her ID. “I have a reservation.” The clerk glanced at the ID, then nodded and handed it back. “Second floor,” she said. “Room 220.” Upstairs, sitting on her bed, Cara found that the TV flickered on and off just as much as all of the lights did. Sighing, she turned it off, then lay silently in the darkness. It shouldn’t have been like this. She was moving into a new city in just a day. A new apartment, a new job, a new life. It should have been good. Except, of course, that it couldn’t possibly have been. She couldn’t be with Simone. Not in this life. Not if she wanted to have a life. But a life without Simone was no life anyway. Things were changing, Simone had said. Things wouldn’t be the way they were now forever. But Cara couldn’t quite believe that. Maybe things would be different someday, but she couldn’t see the end from where she stood now. Her time with Simone was coming to an end, and it hurt terribly. But she couldn’t bear the thought of it all fading away. She patted the wooden deer from Sullivan’s Curios, which was sitting on the bedside table. A deer, just as they’d seen on their first hike together. A memento. A remnant. A souvenir. One last stop. Cara turned off the flickering lights and went to sleep. * * * Sang Mi stared in shock at the burnt-out wreck which stood before her. “Yeah, this was it,” the jogger they’d stopped was saying. “Threads. Big deal when I was a kid, I remember. Thirty years ago this month, actually. Some kind of electrical problem.” Sang Mi shared a concerned glance with Cwej, then turned back to the jogger. “And… everyone died?” she asked. The jogger frowned awkwardly, rubbing at her head. “Well, yeah, I’m afraid so,” she replied. “Awful.” Cwej nodded. “Thank you.” “No problem,” the jogger replied, heading up the road again. They stood in silence for a moment. “Well… I guess it was a ghost,” Cwej said. “Yeah, but—she needed help,” Sang Mi replied. “She needed to deliver something. A deer.” Cwej nodded. “I know, but—I doubt anything she needed to deliver survived this,” he said sadly. Sang Mi mirrored his nod. “I guess you’re right,” she said. “I guess Simone will have forgotten her, whoever she was.” “Why do you say that?” Cwej asked. Sang Mi felt tears welling in her eyes. “Because… because their time came to an end,” she replied. “That’s what she was saying. It ended, because it had to end. And now it can never begin again. I don’t know.” She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Sang Mi—” Cwej began, concerned. Something caught Sang Mi’s eyes among the rubble, and she ran to it, then pulled it from the wreckage. It was a board—a board with words burned into it. She patted the wooden deer from Sullivan’s Curios, which was sitting on the bedside table, the ashes spelled. Cara hefted the heavy wooden deer from its place near the top, leaving its matching double behind, they said in another place. She looked at it for a moment. Then her eyes widened. “Cwej!” she said, determination setting in again. “We need to go back to Sullivan’s Curios!” “What?” Cwej asked. “But that was half a day back!” She ran to the car. “We have to,” she said. “And then… we’re going to Simone’s house.” * * * As the chiming tones of ‘Always Something There to Remind Me’ faded out for the hundredth time, Cwej stopped the car by the house bearing the address which Sang Mi had glimpsed on an arcade machine’s screen. Sang Mi popped open the door, hauling the heavy wooden deer—marked up to $70 after three decades on a shelf—along with her. “Are you sure about this?” Cwej called. “Always,” Sang Mi replied, marching up to the door. She rang the bell. A woman in her 60s opened the door, then looked confusedly at Sang Mi. “Are you Simone?” Sang Mi asked in English. “Yes?” the woman replied. “Do I know you?” Sang Mi took a breath. “Don’t ask me how,” she said, lifting the deer as high as she could manage, “But this is supposed to be a gift from—” “Cara,” the woman breathed, tears shining in her eyes. Sang Mi nodded, setting the deer down on the doorstep. “You remember,” she said. “I… wasn’t sure you would.” “Always,” Simone replied. “It’s been thirty years. But she’ll always be a part of me.” She lifted the sculpture. “We loved deer,” she said wistfully. “So do I,” Sang Mi said, nodding. Simone smiled. “Then you should have it,” she said, putting the deer back into Sang Mi’s arms. “Wh—but what about—?” “You drove all this way,” Simone said, nodding to Cwej, who waved back. “Damned if I know how or why. But you deserve it. I’ve got something better: all the memories.” * * * Back in the car, Sang Mi sat quietly for a while as Cwej drove away, on towards their next destination. “Cwej,” she said at last, holding up the deer. “I want you to have this.” Cwej chuckled. “Nope,” he replied. “You’re stuck with that thing now.” He paused, then Copyright © 2025 Arcbeatle Press All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental or has been done firmly within the bounds of parody and fair use. Edited by James Wylder, James Hornby & Aristide Twain Formatting and design by James Wylder & Aristide Twain Cover by Leela Ross Logo design by Lucas Kovacs Concepts Used with Permission: Academy 27 © Arcbeatle Press Coloth © Simon Bucher-Jones WARSONG, WARS TCG, Gongen, Takumi, and associated concepts © Decipher, Inc. SIGNET and Charles Zoltan © James Hornby Chris Cwej and associated concepts © Andy Lane Yssgaroth © Neil Penswick C.R.U.X © Aristide Twain Lady Aesculapius, Blanche Combine, Jhe Sang Mi © James Wylder sighed. “Look, Sang Mi,” he said. “Everything has to end eventually. But—that woman was right. We’ll always have the memories.” Sang Mi nodded. “Yeah. I know.” Cwej smiled. “I’ve been around a bit. So take it from me: you don’t need souvenirs,” he said. “Because the journey never really ends. There’ll always be a little piece of us left travelling these roads forever.” Sang Mi smiled back. “Then let’s make sure it’s a really good one,” she said. “You know, I’ll bet we could get some actual radio stations out here,” Cwej said. He turned on the radio. They roared down the highways of America beneath the rays of the shining sun, ‘Always Something There to Remind Me’ playing at full blast. Next Stop: |
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