Matt let go of the wheel and tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. He rolled the window down and as soon as he did his chest tightened like before. Whatever positive thoughts he’d had disappeared into the U.P. air like expelled tobacco smoke. In their place, the darkest of thoughts, ones that he’d never felt before. At Stacey and Big John’s funeral, the bleakness was for them, for their behalf. For the first time in his life, Matt felt bleakness for himself. The view out the window blurred as something blocked it, half reality, half not, a deceptive and clever camouflage. Needle sensations wrapped his body as he choked and gasped. Soon the world was full of black-and-white sparkles, every sound in his ears muted yet encased in heavy layers of reverb. As he dipped into unconsciousness, his foot slipped off the gas pedal, quieting the engine.

The forest of Julip Road streaked past him in reverse.

I’m being pulled backwards, he thought just before darkness swallowed him.

Yes you are, Matthew, the little voice said. I’m sorry.

His trusty 4x4 lurched, whined, and jostled in reverse over Julip Road at thirty miles per hour. Inside, Matt Kearns slumped against the driver’s door. Gears grinded and wheels spun. Plumes of dust whooshed into the cab as the truck he and his father had worked on and taken care of zoomed down the road, the back tires three feet off the ground. The chassis creaked and groaned like it always had over these Northwoods logging roads, maybe for the last time.

Matt Kearns woke to the sensation of blowing air and the workman-like scent of oil. He opened his left eye, gazing onto the world through a film of blood.

I’m in hell, he thought.

The other eyelid refused to open. He moved his fingers to his eyebrow and touched a bump.

The heater blew lukewarm air from the driver’s-side vent into his mouth. His stomach curled, and he did his best to hold back. Rivulets of oil trickled across the windshield. He blinked his bloody eye, then wiped at it with his left hand.

He turned and looked out the driver’s-side window only to see ants crawling between smashed blades of grass.

Upside down, he thought. Or on the side.

Matt reached out to the dull light seeping through the passenger window, which now seemed like a sunroof. He groaned and pushed himself up, using the truck bench for support. Then he popped the lock on the passenger door, his body aching and his head throbbing from temple to temple.