The sun shines and the wind blows through leaves with the last breath of summer. The road stretches through the forest where the colors are already turning. The car, an older Honda with more than a few dents and scratches, tears through the road and kicks up behind it the twigs that litter the asphalt.

You need to slow down, she says.

I’m fine.

You need to slow down.

I just want to get home. We’ve got like a hundred miles left.

Gav, slow down, says a voice in the back of the car. You’re making us all nervous.

Fine, fine, Gav says. The car drops ten, fifteen, twenty miles per hour and still hums along the road. Happy?

A little bit.

They ride on in silence for a while before the man in the back of the car speaks again.

I don’t want to go to class Monday. That was a short break.

I’m surprised you remember any of it, the woman next to him says with a smile.

Enough of it, he says. More of it than Sandy.

The woman in the passenger seat throws an empty Styrofoam cup at him. Shut it, you.

Now y’all are making me nervous, Gav says. They laugh.

Sandy looks out the window at the trees and beyond those more trees and between them shrubs and growing trees. Where’s the next town? she asks.

I don’t know, Will says in the back of the car. She looks at Gav, who shrugs. Must be soon.

Look on your phone.

I don’t have service out here.

I don’t think we’ve seen one in a while, Gav says. So there must be one coming up. I mean, it’s 31, not the Kalimari.

The what? Will asks.

The Kalimari. You know, that desert.

How’d you do in geography? Amber asks from the backseat.

I haven’t had geography. I don’t think that’s a course requirement.

Amber looks at Will and rolls her eyes. Will smiles.

The next gas station we come across, we’re stopping, Sandy says. I’ve gotta go.

Fine, Gav says. We’ll never get home.

Five minutes at a gas station won’t kill any of us, Will says.

Gav turns and looks at Will and opens his mouth but before he can speak he hears Sandy scream. He whips his head back around in time to watch the car smash into a deer. The deer flies away from the impact and lands up the road.

A few minutes later, they exit the car. Sandy vomits and Gav feels his nose which hurts to touch and leaks blood down his mouth. Will rubs his forehead and Amber walks up slowly toward the deer.

Careful, Will says. It might still be alive.

If it is still alive, we should do something, Amber says.

Fuck me, Gav says, look at the front of the car.

Will it still run? Will asks.

Maybe, Gav says. We might want to wait for someone to come along.

I don’t remember seeing any cars for the last bit.

Well, we’re way the hell out here.

They hear a gasp and look as Amber takes several steps back from the deer. The deer rises to its feet, its hooves scratching against the pavement and moving its head around at an awkward angle.

How is it still alive? Sandy says.

No one answers. It’s not bleeding or anything, Will says.

It could have internal bleeding, Gav says.

Poor thing, Amber says.

The deer looks at them and finds its footing. Then it slams its head into the ground, over and over.

What the fuck, Gav says. What is it doing?

Amber and Sandy scream with each blow.

Get back, Will says. Let’s all give it some space. It might be sick or something.

They go to the other side of the Honda, as far from the crunching noise as they can without leaving the scene, and all four of them pull out their cell phones.

Well, mine’s smashed, Gav says.

No signal, the others each say in turn.

Looks like we’re stuck here for a while, until someone gives us a lift, Will says.

The car might still run, Sandy says.

Sure, says Gav, but how far do you think it is going to get like that? I’d hate for us to get down the road a few miles and the thing catch fire or whatever.

What else can we do? Will asks.

We can walk, Gav says.

They start walking down the road, looking back behind them past the ruined car and up ahead. No traffic comes. The trees rustle but otherwise no sound comes from the woods.

Of course we’d wreck in the middle of nowhere, Sandy says.

No kidding, Amber says.

I mean, how far could it be before we find someone? Will says. Sooner or later we’ll find a town or a gas station or something.

It could be miles, though. There’s parts of the state where there’s nothing for fifty, sixty miles.

Are we in that part? Sandy asks.

Gav shrugs. I don’t think it will be that bad, but ask yourself this--how many times have you come across a busted-out gas station? How many closed storefronts have you seen with kudzu growing over the roof and through the windows?

At least you’re keeping optimistic, Amber says.

Hey, better to be smart about--

Gav stops talking and stands in the road. The others stop and look at him and then follow his gaze. They gasp.

How is that possible? Will asks after a moment.

That’s, that’s, Amber manages to say.

That’s our car, isn’t it? Sandy asks.

It looks like it, Gav says. The group slowly approaches the car.

It’s all smashed up, Will says.

But how can that be possible? How could the road circle without us noticing? Gav asks.

Or why would it circle? Amber asks.

They look at her.

This is 31, she says. Why would it go in a loop? And where would the road exit the loop? We haven’t seen any turn offs.

What the hell is going on here? Sandy asks.

So I guess we might as well just wait here if we can’t even find our way out, Will says.

You want to stay here? Gav asks.

What the hell else are we gonna do? Does anyone want a water? We have some water in the trunk still, I think.

I do, Amber says.

Alright, Will says. Gav, do you still have the keys?

Yeah, hold on. Gav digs in his pockets and tosses the keys to Will, who walks to the back of the car.

Uh...I don’t think I can open it, Will says.

What do you mean you can’t open it?

The key won’t fit in the lock.

Gav walks over to the trunk and takes the keys from Will. He tries several times to put the key in the lock, but it won’t fit.

Could it be someone else’s car? Amber asks.

That got in the exact same accident? Sandy asks. Amber rolls her eyes.

No, this is weird, Gav says. It isn’t that it won’t turn, it literally won’t fit in the lock.

Could something have gotten in there in the accident? Will asks.

Gav kneels. I don’t think so, he says. It’s like there isn’t a lock, just the outside.

What are you talking about? Will asks.

Look if you don’t believe me.

Will looks at the lock and beyond the surface of the opening there is nothing. How the hell is that possible? he asks. Give me the key.

Will takes the key and scratches at the lock. A gray dust falls of the lock onto the ground as he moves the key further and further into the lock. See? I told that you there must be something in there.

Gav comes over to the lock and checks Will’s progress. If it is just something in the lock, then why is the metal gone?

Will looks at Gav and then back to the trunk and sees that Gav is right, the edges of the lock have been eaten away along with the gray dust on the interior.

What the hell is going on? Amber asks.

Gav takes a pocketknife out and catches Will’s gaze. Gav takes the knife and scratches it down the length of the bumper. Will almost protests but he sees the line left by the knife digs deeper than the knife should into the bumper and more of the gray dust runs out onto the ground.

What’s going on? Amber asks again. Sandy stands and doesn’t speak.

The doors, Will says. Try the doors.

Gav walks to the door and tries to open the back driver’s side door and then the driver door. Nothing happens.

It’s just locked, right? Sandy asks.

Gav looks around on the ground and finds a rock a bit bigger than his fist and steps back a few feet then throws the rock as hard as he can at the driver’s window. Will jumps back and all of them gasp when the air fills with dust as though a bomb exploded.

When the powder clears from the air, the window no longer exists. The car door sits as though a window had never been set in it. They look but cannot find glass, not on the ground or on the seat or in the interior of the car. Neither can they find the rock, which should be sitting on the driver’s seat or perhaps the passenger’s if thrown with enough force but appears to be in the same place as the glass from the window.

Do you hear anything? Will asks.

What, like animals? Sandy asks.

Yeah, do you hear any animals?

No, Amber says, her eyes not meeting anyone’s face. I don’t hear anything.

Doesn’t that seem strange to you? In the woods, this time of year?

You’re scaring me, Sandy says.

It gets worse, Gav says.

So you’ve noticed what I’ve noticed, Will says.

I think so.

Well, what is it? Amber says.

There’s no noise, no birds, no insects, nothing.

Right, we got it.

Yeah, well, look around. There are animals everywhere. They just aren’t making any noise.

Amber looks up and Sandy follows her gaze and there in the trees are birds and squirrels run from limb to limb and flies and beetles and bees fly through the air the same as forests the world over but there is not a buzz nor a chirp nor a call from the deep woods.

We should get out of here, Amber says, and there is no one to disagree with her. They begin down the road and don’t look back and so do not see what they all suspect as they walk on and with their backs to the nature life two dozen different species stop upon their courses and watch the four people continue on their way.

They walk for over an hour and their feet hurt from the roughness of the road and the flimsy nature of their beach footwear.

Are we ever going to come across anything? Sandy asks.

We’ve only come a few miles, Gav says. I’m just glad we haven’t seen our car again.

If we had gone back the other way maybe we could have found our car. I mean, our car, Amber says.

Does anyone really want to go back that way? Will asks.

No one answers.

That’s what I thought.

We might wish we had in a little bit, Sandy says. She points to the sky where the sun begins to pass down through the trees. Anyone want to be around here when it gets dark?

They walk on. The sun sets and for a moment fills the sky with its furnace glow as though it intends to smelt the air itself and then it is gone. They shiver in unseasonal temperatures and clothing that ill fits the night air. They stop speaking but trudge on through that black and silent night with only wind in the trees and even it muffled and distant and through the darkness following the road like a frozen black river they ignore the eyes that reflect the moonlight.

Gav peers through the branches of the trees that threaten to grow over the road, wide though it is, and find direction in the stars, as if by some astronomical means a way beyond the endless road would be revealed to him. He sees stars but he knows them not and before he can puzzle something out of them his attention is brought back from the sidereal to the gasps of the girls and a shout from Will.

What is it? he asks.

They point and he follows the trajectory of their fingers into the moonlit night and there a figure walks toward them. He feels relief of a sort knowing that a fellow wandered is in this place followed by panic because he lacks knowledge of the wanderer’s character and finally primal revulsion when he realizes the traveler bears the likeness of himself.

Gav, Will says. What is going on?

Is that--is that me?

Stop right there, Amber shouts at the thing. It takes several more steps but it does stop and it stands on the edge of the forest staring at them each in turn.

Who are you? Gav asks. His eyes meet their reflection.

What is it? Sandy says. It can’t be you, right? What is it?

The not-Gav stands in front of them and smiles.

I don’t like this, Will says.

Then the not-Gav frowns. Just as they begin to think it is something Will has said, an angry expression passes over its face and then one of confusion followed by a face so ridiculous that Sandy lets out an involuntary laugh. It begins to dance.

Their mouths open, they watch this thing in the appearance of their friend move its limbs flexibly along the road and across it, almost completing a circle around them before returning back to its original location, something like a mix between ballet and a forgotten tribal dance, and none of them say a word as it dances and then it stops and stares at them again.

It isn’t breathing, Gav says. They look and the air is barely cool enough for their exhalations to be visible but they are and even still the thing’s chest never moves. Amber opens her mouth as though to comment when the not-Gav takes his left arm in his right and considers it, then breaks the forearm in half straight backwards. They shout and it stands there looking at them and then back to the arm which sits in its unnatural angle. Where the skin breaks away and the bone should come forth only a small cloud gathers the light from the moon and drifts to the ground. Then it runs at them.

They scream and jump out of the way and it almost passes right over Will who escapes its path just in time for the thing to ram itself headfirst into a nearby tree, sending a shudder through the plant and a cloud of dust into the air. The thing turns around with half of its face crushed in and though it is so damaged that only one eye remains and the top of its head should be a gory mess, only the flesh around the gray cavities lends any more serious than knocked-through drywall. The thing’s head knocks some of the bark loose from the tree and instead of sap a flow, like an hourglass, runs from the damaged section of the trunk. The not-Gav smiles again and runs through its range of emotions and then walks away into the woods. The four of them watch it, their hands and knees scraped from their escape from the thing. The watch until it is no longer in sight and then they stand and walk down the road. One of them complains about food and another mentions that they will need water before they need food and then there is no talking but only one foot after the other into the dark ahead.